MC-NRLF 


SONC 


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SIM. 


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COMES  ONE 
WITH  A  SONG 


COMES  ONE 
WITH  A  SONG 


FRANK  L.  STANTON 
i  * 

Author  of  "  Songs  of  the  Soil " 


'  INDIANAPOLIS  AND  KANSAS  CITY 

THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  CO. 
1899 


f; 


a 


TO 

MY  WIFE   AND   DAUGHTER 
LEONA  AND  MARCELLE 


M40470 


CONTENTS 

Comes  One  With  a  Song  Proem 

One  Country 

The  Woodland  Thrush  3 

The  Warning  5 

October  7 

Time's  Up  IO 

The  Graveyard  Rabbit  I2 

A  Song  of  Harvest  H 

In  Evidence  l6 

The  Love  Gage  J7 

With  My  Pipe  l8 

So  Many  !  2I 
Little  Bit  of  a  Fellow 

The  Story  of  the  Wood  23 

The  Rapier  27 
When  Jennie  Rode  to  Mill  With  Me 

Chuck  Will's  Widow  3° 

A  Little  Thankful  Song  32 

Clarisse  34 

Light  On  the  Hills  35 

Linnie's  Hair  37 

Motherhood  39 

His  Grandmother's  Way  4° 

Beneath  the  Mistletoe  42 

When  the  Little  Boy  Ran  Away  43 


CONTENTS 

The  Ships  At  Sea  46 

At  the  Twilight  Gate  48 

Eugene  Field  54 

A  Boy's  View  of  It  55 

With  Old -Time  Friends  57 

A  Song  of  Love  60 

A  Memory  of  Him  61 

The  Faces  He  Loved  to  the  Last  63 

In  Love's  Tender  Keeping  65 

His  Mother's  Kiss  66 

Our  Poetry  Farm  67 

A  Song  of  Seasons  70 

A  Kilted  Genius  71 

At  the  Turn  of  the  Road  73 

The  Runaway  Toys  74 

Retribution  76 

The  Christmasse  Children  77 

Annetta  Jones — Her  Book  79 

Love's  Way  81 

"  The  Grenadiers  "  82 

From  the  Shadow  84 

The  Love  Lights  of  Home  88 

Summer's  Farewell  go 

Indian  Summer  Day  91 

A  Holiday  Note  93 

The  Old  Rail  Fence  94 

A  Song  in  June  97 

The  Reapers  99 

Weary  for  Her  100 

A  Song  of  Thanks  102 

The  Singer  Crowned  103 


CONTENTS 

The  Sky  for  You  105 

Going  Home  to  Mary  106 

A  Providential  Christmas  108 

A  Rainy  Day  115 

Taking  the  Baby's  Picture  117 

A  Happy  Fellow  121 

This  World  123 

The  Christmas  Fiddle  124 

Ten  Acres  for  Him  127 

The  Little  One  129 

A  Know-Nothing  Fellow  131 

How  I  Spoke  the  Word  133 

The  Famous  Mulligan  Ball  136 

Sweet  Little  Woman  of  Mine  139 

According  to  John  140 

Why  the  Wedding  Waits  141 

Thirty  Years  After  143 

The  Flag  of  Our  Country  146 

The  Fight  147 

The  Warship  Dixie  148 

The  Billville  Debate  150 

The  Veterans  153 

A  Southern  Volunteer  155 

Old  "  Bob  White  "  157 

Prayin'  for  Rain  158 

The  Rattlesnake's  Song  160 

"Little  Tin  Ho'n"  162 

A  Lullaby  164 

Miss  Nancy  165 

The  Thrush  Song  166 

Sweet,  My  Honey  167 

xiii 


CONTENTS 

A  Summer  Song  168 

The  Lost  Birds  170 

Rabbit  Song  172 

Mister  Blizzard  173 

His  Dream-Money  175 

A  Plantation  Ditty  176 

A  Doubter  in  the  Fold  177 

Miss  Lucy's  Way  178 

Morning  Song  180 

Young  Miss  181 

Miss  Liza  183 

The  Children  184 

At  Devil's  Lake  186 

A  Summer  Lyric  iSS 

Tiger  Lilies  190 

Morning  Fires  for  Mary  191 

The  Veteran's  Dream  192 

In  Thy  New  Year  194 

With  April  Violets  196 

His  "  Favor  "  198 

A  Winter  Night  199 


xiv 


In  the  strife  and  the  tumult  that  sweeps  us  along 

Comes  one  with  a  song. 
In  the  storm  of  the  nations — the  wrath  for  the  wrong, 

Comes  one  with  a  song, 
And  over  the  rage  of  the  people  the  skies 
See  the  light  of  a  lovelier  morning  arise ; — 
There  are  prayers  on  Love's  lips,  and  the  light 's  in  Love's  eyes 

Comes  one  with  a  song. 

In  the  rude  clamor  and  crush  of  the  throng 

Comes  one  with  a  song. 
The  winds  have  foretold  him  ;  rills  rippled  along 

Of  one  with  a  song. 

And  the  sword  's  in  the  scabbard,  and  soft  as  the  dew 
On  the  lips  of  the  lilies — God's  white  thoughts  of  you — 
Love's  dear  arms  enfold  you;  light  breaks  from  the  blue!— 

Comes  one  with  a  song. 


ONE  COUNTRY 


AFTER  ALL, 
One  country,  brethren !    We  must  rise  or  fall 
With  the  Supreme  Republic.     We  must  be 
The  makers  of  her  immortality ; 
Her  freedom,  fame, 
Her  glory  or  her  shame — 
Liegemen  to  God  and  fathers  of  the  free ! 

II 

After  all- 
Hark!   from  the  heights  the  clear,  strong,  clarion  call 
And  the  command  imperious:    "Stand  forth, 
Sons  of  the  south  and  brothers  of  the  north ! 

Stand  forth  and  be 

As  one  on  soil  and  sea — 

Your  country's  honor  more  than  empire's  worth!  " 
i 


ONE    COUNTRY 
III 

After  all, 

'Tis  Freedom  wears  the  loveliest  coronal; 
Her  bvqw;  is  fo  the  morning ;   in  the  sod 
She  bfeathefc1  the  breath  of  patriots;   every  clod 
{  ;  ^AnsvVeYe  her  call 

And  rises  like  a  wall 
Against  the  foes  of  liberty  and  God ! 


THE  WOODLAND  THRUSH 

IN  the  deep  woods  remote 
A  sweeter  minstrel  dwells 
Than  ever  piped  a  morn  or  twilight  note 
In  all  the  song-swept  dells. 

It  is  no  voice  that  soars 

Unwearying  to  the  blue  ; 
Transient — elusive — even  while  Love  adores: 

A  phantom  of  the  dew ! 

A  sense  of  silver  bells 

Swayed  by  light  winds  ; — a  thrill 
Keen  as  the  leaf  feels  when  the  spring  sap  swells 

And  sculptures  it  at  will. 

And  ere  the  lips  can  say 

A  song  hath  been — aware 
Of  mystery  the  soul  hath  lost  its  way — 

Doubting  and  dreaming  there, 

3 


THE    WOODLAND    THRUSH 

As  one  in  shadowed  bovvers 

Of  Sleep  may  hear  a  strain 
Which  haunts  the  memory  in  his  waking  hours, 

Nor  makes  its  meaning  plain. 

Soft  as  a  ripple's  plash 

Against  the  shore's  shelled  walls, — 

0  that  the  mystic  melody  would  dash 
Down  like  the  waterfalls ! 

Yet  all  the  wood  is  stirred 

From  violet  to  pine  ; 
And  I  have  heard — and  yet  I  have  not  heard 

A  melody  divine ! 

Voice  of  the  woodland  thrush ! 

Dewdrop  of  song,  that  fears 
The  rustling  of  a  leaf — a  rose's  blush, 

And  dies  when  Love  appears ; — 

1  lose  myself  in  thee 

As  one  who,  billow-tost 

And  drowning,  hears  strange  music  in  the  sea, 
Lulled  by  the  sound  and  ....  lost ! 
4 


THE  WARNING 

WAS  the  tree  thrilled  by  the  wind  ? 
There  was  never  a  sky-blown  breath. 
So  still  the  day — so  ghostly  gray, 

It  seemed  a  soul  in  death. 
Yet  through  each  leaf  a  tremor  ran 
Like  the  blood  in  the  veins  of  a  man. 

Through  each  leaf  a  tremor 

Wild  and  swift  and  keen ; 
And  the  thrilling  leaves — the  unwilling  leaves, 

Seemed  over  a  grave  to  lean. 
And  through  the  round  limbs  ever  ran 
The  thrill  of  the  rope  at  the  throat  of  a  man ! 

And  the  leaves  moaned  in  the  light, 

And  the  light  they  did  condemn, 
And  cried  to  the  tempest  and  the  night 

To  darken  over  them. 

And  the  sun  sank  low,  and  his  last  beams  ran 
To  the  leaves,  as  if  red  with  the  blood  of  a  man. 

5 


THE    WARNING 

And  the  silence  is  broken.  .   .  .  And  hark! 

A  shout — a  shriek  in  the  glen, — 
A  ghostly  face  in  the  dark. 

And  the  sky  grows  black  .   .   .   and  then — 
The  limbs  and  the  leaves  feel  the  blight  and  the  ban 
Of  the  blood  of  a  man ! 


OCTOBER 

I   WOULD  I  had  a  rhyme  wherewith  to  robe  her- 
The  fair  October! 

But  rhyme  on  rhyme  my  fancy  vainly  weaves : — 
At  hide  and  seek  in  her  red  realm  of  leaves. 
I  can  not  paint  her  melancholy,  sober — 
The  glad  October! 

Even  glad, 

Though  all  the  world's  wan  singers  call  her  sad, 
And  sorrowful  and  wise, 
While  her  complaining  eyes 
Droop  in  a  mournful  mist! 

But  I  have  seen  her  cheek,  by  sunlight  kissed, 
Wear  the  wild  peach's  bloom, 
The  while  each  wind-blown  tress 

Fell  from  her  forehead,  gleaming  in  the  gloom 

With  unimagined  light  and  loveliness ! 

7 


OCTOBER 

Through  dream-enchanted  hours 

Of  summer,  when  for  weariness  the  flowers 

Sank  from  the  fierce  sun's  sight 
With  thoughts  of  star-trysts  in  the  cool  twilight, 

And  dew-plashed  bowers 
Of  unseen  spirits  of  the  violet  night, — 
Far  off  she  felt  the  red  rose  at  her  lips, 
And  thrilled  the  thorn's  blood  to  her  finger  tips ; 
The  slow  sap  tingling  through  the  veiny  leaf ; 
The  gold  grain  climbing  to  the  sunny  sheaf, — 
The  breath  and  death  of  lilies — these  she  knew, 

And  in  sweet  secret  places,  under  blue 

And  kindly  skies, 

With  pity  in  her  eyes, 
Wrought  golden  vesture — silvered  with  sunrise, 

To  deck  their  death  withal ; 

And  many  a  coronal ; 
And  fashioned  her  red  leaves  into  sea-waves 

To  ripple  round  their  graves ! 


OCTOBER 

Tears,  but  the  light  of  tears! 
A  moment  mourns  she  for  the  dying  years, 

Anon  to  race 

Sylph-like  through  crimson  woodlands,  in  the  embrace 
Of  rival  winds  that  toss  about  her  face 
Her  shiny  ringlets,  clamoring  to  sip 

The  red  wine  of  her  lip ! 
And  in  the  gathered  glory  of  the  day, 
Wending  her  glorious  and  golden  way 
To  gorgeous  groves,  rose-radiant  with  May! 


I  would  I  had  a  rhyme  wherewith  to  robe  her — 

The  fair  October ! 

But  rhyme  on  rhyme  my  fancy  vainly  weaves: — 
In  red  recesses  of  her  realm  of  leaves 
I  do  not  find  her  melancholy — sober, — 

The  glad  October! 


TIME'S  UP! 

TIME'S  up  for  love  and  laughter: 
We  drained  the  banquet  cup, 
And  now  the  dark  comes  after, 

And  lights  are  out.    .   .   .   Time's  up! 

O  lovers  in  sweet  places, 

With  lips  of  song  and  sigh, 
Come  forth  with  pallid  faces 

And  kiss  your  last  good-by! 

O  sweet  bride  at  the  marriage, 

Impatient  at  thy  gates, 
Beside  a  sable  carriage 

A  ghostly  groomsman  waits ! 

O  statesman,  crowned  and  splendid, 
The  laurel  leaves  thy  brow ; 

The  long  debate  is  ended — 
The  halls  are  voiceless  now. 
10 


TIME'S  UP! 

Time's  up  for  wooing,  winning — 
For  doubt,  for  dream,  for  strife; 

For  sighing  and  for  sinning — 
For  love,  for  hate,  for  life ! 

Time's  up.   .   .   .  The  dial's  mark  is 
On  the  last  hour  complete. 

Lie  clown  there,  where  the  dark  is, 
And  dream  that  Time  was  sweet! 


ii 


THE  GRAVEYARD  RABBIT 

IN  the  white  moonlight,  where  the  willow  waves, 
He  halfway  gallops  among  the  graves — 
A  tiny  ghost  in  the  gloom  and  gleam, 

Content  to  dwell  where  the  dead  men  dream, 

But  wary  still : 

For  they  plot  him  ill : 

For  the  graveyard  rabbit  hath  a  charm 

(May  God  defend  us ! )  to  shield  from  harm ! 

Over  the  shimmering  slabs  he  goes — 
Every  grave  in  the  dark  he  knows ; 
But  his  nest  is  hidden  from  human  eye 
Where  headstones  broken  on  old  graves  lie. 

Wary  still ! 
For  they  plot  him  ill : 

For  the  graveyard  rabbit,  though  skeptics  scoff, 
Charmeth  the  witch  and  the  wizard  off! 
12 


THE    GRAVEYARD    RABBIT 

The  black  man  creeps,  when  the  night  is  dim, 

Fearful,  still,  on  the  track  of  him; 

Or  fleety  follows  the  way  he  runs, 

For  he  heals  the  hurts  of  the  conjured  ones. 

Wary  still ! 

For  they  plot  him  ill ; 

The  soul's  bewitched,  that  would  find  release, 

To  the  graveyard  rabbit  go  for  peace ! 

He  holds  their  secret — he  brings  a  boon 
Where  winds  moan  wild  in  the  dark  o'  the  moon ; 
And  gold  shall  glitter  and  love  smile  sweet 
To  whoever  shall  sever  his  furry  feet! 

Wary  still! 

For  they  plot  him  ill : 

For  the  graveyard  rabbit  hath  a  charm 

(May  God  defend  us!)  to  shield  from  harm! 


A  SONG  OF  HARVEST 

SING  a  song  of  harvest — sing  it,  ring  it  sweet : 
Set  it  to  the  music  of  the  ripple  of  the  wheat ! 
Sweetheart,  sweetheart, 

Reaping  as  we  go, 
A  kiss  amid  the  music 

And  the  wheat  would  never  know ! 

Sing  a  song  of  harvest — sing  it,  ring  it  true ! 
Symphonies  of  sunlight  and  mysteries  of  dew; 
Sweetheart,  sweetheart, 
Summer  sighs  to  go ; 
A  kiss  amid  the  music 

And  the  wheat  would  never  know. 

Sing  a  song  of  harvest — of  many  a  golden  tithe ; 
Set  it  to  the  tinkle  and  the  twinkle  of  the  scythe ; 
Sweetheart,  sweetheart, 
Loves  a  reaper,  too ; 
Love  is  in  the  music 

And  the  thrilling  heart  of  you. 
H 


A    SONG    OP"    HARVEST 

Sing  a  song  of  harvest  like  the  ripple  of  a  stream, 
Till  the  shadows  kiss  the  meadows  and  the  stars 
above  us  dream ; 

Sweetheart,  sweetheart, 
Summer  sighs  to  go ; 
A  kiss  amid  the  music 

And  the  wheat  would  never  know. 


IN  EVIDENCE 

THIS  is  the  spot  where  the  man  was  slain ; 
Never  a  blade  of  grass  hath  grown — 
For  all  the  sunlight  and  all  the  rain — 

Where  he  fell  in  the  dark  alone! 
This  is  the  marked  and  the  unblessed  place — 
And  the  earth  keeps  the  print  of  his  murdered  face. 

Slain  that  night  as  he  rode  along 

To  the  lips  of  the  woman  who  loved  him  best ; 
For  the  hate  in  his  rival's  heart  was  strong 

As  the  love  in  his  victim's  breast. 
And  while  he  mused  on  the  victory  wron, 
There  came  a  flash  from  the  ambushed  gun. 

A  flash,  and  a  fall  in  the  dark.    But  lo! 

Between  the  slain  and  the  slayer  lies 
That  spot,  which  even  the  winter's  snow 

Hides  not  from  human  eyes. 
That  spot  whose  evil  no  priest  may  ban — 
With  the  awful  mask  of  the  murdered  man. 


16 


THE  LOVE  GAGE 

A  RED  rose  at  Lucinda's  feet: 
Ho !   gallants — east  and  west, 
Who'll  race  that  royal  rose  to  greet — 

Who'll  wear  it  on  his  breast? 
A  red  rose  at  Lucinda's  feet : 
Who  loves  Lucinda  best? 

A  red  rose  at  Lucinda's  feet: 

Ho !   gallants — speed  amain ! 
That  rose  hath  known  her  kisses  sweet — 

Her  lips  its  crimson  stain ! 
A  red  rose  at  Lucinda's  feet: 

What  knight  the  rose  will  gain  ? 

A  red  rose  at  Lucinda's  feet: 

See  where  her  lips  have  pressed ! 

Through  light  and  storm  sure-mettled — fleet, 
Speed,  lovers,  east  and  west! 

A  red  rose  at  Lucinda's  feet: 
Who  loves  Lucinda  best  ? 


WITH  MY  PIPE 

WHEN  the  wind  blows  cold  and  shrilly  through  the 
black  December  night, 

And  the  oak  logs  pile  the  chimney  and  the  flame  is  leap 
ing  bright ; 
Then  witch  tales  are  in  order,  and  the  children  cease 

their  play, 

I  light  my  pipe  contentedly  and  puff  and  puff  away ! 
Puff,  puff,  puff! 

Though  the  wind  the  casement  cuff, 
A  full  pipe  of  tobacco 
Brings  me  happiness  enough ! 

Is  sleep  the  time  for  dreaming?     Well,  I  dream  my 

dreams  awake: 
I  love  the  varying  visions  that  a  wreath  of  smoke  can 

make; 

The  scent  of  my  tobacco  makes  me  reconciled  to  stay 
In  a  world  which  hath  no  sorrow  but  a  pipe  can  puff  away. 

18 


WITH    MY    PIPE 

Puff,  puff,  puff! 

Let  the  world  go  smooth  or  rough, 

A  pipe  of  rich  tobacco 

Brings  me  happiness  enough. 

In  the  blue  smoke  round  me  curling  rise  the  Carolina 

hills, 
The  sunlight  on  the  meadows  and  the  ripple   on   the 

rills  ; 
And  the  valleys  of  Virginia  seem  to  blossom  with  the 

May, 

And  I  hear  the  reapers  singing  as  I  puff  and  puff  away. 
Puff,  puff,  puff! 

What  though  fortune  should  rebuff? 
A  pipe  of  fine  tobacco 
Brings  me  happiness  enough. 

Old  friends  I  loved  come  smiling  through  each  misty 

wreath  that  curls ; 
I  hear  the  fiddler's  music — see  the  red  lips  of  the  girls; 


WITH    MY    PIPE 

The  snows  of  life's  December  have  a  rainbow-tinted 

ray, 

And  a  sweet  face  I  remember  makes  me  sigh  and  puff 
away. 

Puff,  puff,  puff, 
Life  is  rosy — life  is  rough ; 
But  a  pipe  of  sweet  tobacco 
Brings  me  happiness  enough. 

But  I  smile,  for  I'm  contented,  and  no  visions  can  pro 
voke 
When  the  frosty  air  is  scented  with  old-time  tobacco 

smoke ; 
The  girls  I  loved  are  married,  and  their  golden  locks 

are  gray ; 

Be  my  blessing  to  them  carried  as  I  puff  and  puff  away ! 
Puff,  puff,  puff, 

Let  the  wind  the  casement  cuff: 
A  pipe  of  rare  tobacco 
Brings  me  happiness  enough! 


20 


SO  MANY! 

SO  many  stars  in  the  infinite  space — 
So  many  worlds  in  the  light  of  God's  face 

So  many  storms  ere  the  thunders  shall  cease — 
So  many  paths  to  the  portals  of  Peace. 

So  many  years,  so  many  tears — 

Sighs  and  sorrows  and  pangs  and  prayers. 

So  many  ships  in  the  desolate  night — 
So  many  harbors,  and  only  one  Light. 

So  many  creeds  like  the  weeds  in  the  sod — 
So  many  temples,  and  only  one  God. 


21 


LITTLE  BIT  OF  A  FELLOW 

LITTLE  bit  of  a  fellow— 
Couldn't  get  him  to  sleep, 
And  the  mother  sighed 
As  he  tossed  and  cried : 
"He's  such  a  trouble  to  keep!" 
Little  bit  of  a  fellow — 
Couldn't  get  him  to  sleep. 

Little  bit  of  a  fellow!— 

But  the  eyes  of  the  mother  weep ; 
For  one  sad  night 
That  was  lost  to  light 

God  smiled  and  kissed  him  to  sleep. 
Little  bit  of  a  fellow! — 

And  he  wasn't  a  trouble  to  keep! 


22 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  WOOD 


WHAT  said  the  Wood  in  the  fire 
To  the  little  boy  that  night — 
The  little  boy  of  the  golden  hair, 
As  he  rocked  himself  in  his  little  arm-chair- 
When  the  blaze  was  burning  bright  ? 

The  Wood  said:     "See 

What  they've  done  to  me ! 
I  stood  in  the  forest,  a  beautiful  tree, 
And  waved  my  branches  from  east  to  west, 
And  many  a  sweet  bird  built  its  nest 

In  my  leaves  of  green 

That  loved  to  lean 
In  springtime  over  the  daisies'  breast ! 

23 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    WOOD 

"From  the  blossoming  dells 

Where  the  violet  dwells 
The  cattle  came  with  their  clanking  bells 
And  rested  under  my  shadows  sweet ; 
And  the  winds  that  went  over  the  clover  and  wheat 

Told  me  all  that  they  knew 

Of  the  flowers  that  grew 
In  the  beautiful  meadows  that  dreamed  at  my  feet! 

"And  the  wild  wind's  caresses 

Oft  rumpled  my  tresses ; 

But  sometimes,  as  soft  as  a  mother's  lip  presses 
On  the  brow  of  the  child  of  her  bosom,  it  laid 
Its  lips  on  my  leaves,  and  I  was  not  afraid ! 

And  I  listened,  and  heard 

The  small  heart  of  each  bird 
As  it  beat  in  the  warm  nest  the  mother  had  made ! 

"And  in  springtime  sweet  faces 

Of  myriad  graces 

Came  beaming  and  gleaming  from  flowery  places; 
24 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    WOOD 

And  under  my  grateful  and  joy-giving  shade, 
With  cheeks  like  primroses  the  little  ones  played ; 

And  the  sunshine  in  showers 

Through  all  the  bright  hours 
Bound  their  beauteous  ringlets  with  silvery  braid. 

"And  the  lightning 
Came  brightening 
From  far  skies,  and  frightening 
The  wandering  birds  that  were  tossed  by  the  breeze 
And  tilted  like  ships  on  black,  billowy  seas ! 
But  they  flew  to  my  breast 
And  I  rocked  them  to  rest, 

While  the  trembling  vines  clustered  and  clung  at 
my  knees ! 

"But  how  soon,"  said  the  Wood, 
"Fades  the  memory  of  good! 
Though  with  sheltering  love  and  sweet  kindness 
I  stood, 


THE    STORY    OF    THE    WOOD 

The  forester  came  with  his  ax  gleaming  bright, 
And  I  fell  like  a  giant,  all  shorn  of  his  might! 

Yet  still  there  must  be 

Some  sweet  mission  for  me : 

For  have  I  not  warmed  you  and  cheered  you  to 
night?" 


•&• 


So  said  the  Wood  in  the  fire 

To  the  little  boy  that  night — 
The  little  boy  of  the  golden  hair, 
As  he  rocked  himself  in  his  little  arm-chair — 

When  the  blaze  was  burning  bright. 


26 


THE  RAPIER 

HERE  in  the  dark  the  scabbard  hangs,  and  red 
The  rapier  is  with  rust; 
The  cruel  hand  that  wielded  it  lies  dead 
In  dim,  forgotten  dust. 

For  forth  a  soldier  to  the  battle  fared — 

Forth  from  a  woman  fair, 
Whose  kiss  the  conflict  to  his  soul  endeared, 

And  met  the  rapier  there. 

And  when,  far  hidden  in  the  cannon's  smoke 

And  in  the  crimson  rain, 
The  man  reeled  lifeless  from  the  rapier's  stroke, 

The  woman,  too,  was  slain! 


WHEN  JENNY  RODE  TO  MILL  WITH  ME 

WHEN  Jenny  rode  to  mill  with  me 
The  daisies  bared  their  bosoms ; 
The  spring  winds  rumpled  every  tree 
And  stirred  a  storm  of  blossoms. 

The  squirrels  scampered  from  the  hedge, 

The  cows  were  in  the  clover ; 
The  lilies  rimmed  the  river's  edge 

And  dusky  cloves  flew  over. 

The  white  road  seemed  to  welcome  us, 

By  shaken  dewdrops  dented ; 
The  groves  with  song  were  tremulous, 

By  lonely  violets  scented. 

The  mad  wind  seemed  to  envy  all 

The  curls  beneath  her  bonnet, 
And  let  the  dew-dashed  blossoms  fall 

In  twinkling  showers  on  it. 
28 


WHEN    JENNY    RODE    TO    MILL,    WITH    ME 

How  well  the  way  old  "Milton"  knew 
In  all  the  springtime  weather ; 

His  back  was  broad  enough  for  two, 
And  so — we  rode  together! 

He  loitered  in  the  light  and  song ; 

He  knew  the  spell  that  bound  me, 
And  that  the  way  was  never  long 

While  Jenny's  arms  were  round  me! 

The  rose  had  then  no  cruel  thorn 
To  mar  the  moment's  blisses; 

The  miller  took  his  toll  in  corn, 
And  I  took  mine  in  kisses. 

But  time  has  left  us  far  apart; 

Yet,  though  the  years  are  many, 
The  dear  old  road  runs  round  the  heart 

That  frames  the  face  of  Jenny. 

And  I  would  give  the  world  to  see 
The  daisies'  milk-white  bosoms 

Where  Jenny  rode  to  mill  with  me 
Amid  a  storm  of  blossoms  ? 
29 


CHUCK  WILL'S  WIDOW 

OVER  the  fields  and  the  woodlands  you  hear  it 
' 'Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' 
Now  it  is  distant,  and  now  you  are  near  it : 

"  Will-married-the-widow !" 
Nothing  is  told 
Of  his  grace  or  his  gold — 
If  Willie  was  young,  or  the  widow  was  old ; 
Only  that  statement  comes  over  the  wold : 

I  'Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' 

How  it  is  echoing  far  down  the  valley : 

I 1  Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' 
Under  the  stars  where  the  fairy  forms  rally : 

4  'Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' 
Foolish,  or  wise, 
Will  was  after  the  prize ; 

But  whether  the  widow  had  brown  or  blue  eyes 
The  mystic  musician  sings  not  to  the  skies: 

But — '  'Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' 
30 


CHUCK  WILL'S  WIDOW 

Why  from  the  woods  that  monotonous  singing: 

"Will-married-the-widow ! " 
Why  not  the  bells,  with  a  jubilant  ringing: 

If  " Will-married-the-widow !" 
Did  Will  run  away 
With  the  widow  that  day — 
Away  o'er  the  world  in  a  chariot  gay? 
Was  there  any  objection  ?     He  never  will  say ! 

But — '  'Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' 

Over  the  fields  and  the  woodlands  you  hear  it: 

'  'Will-married-the-widow ! " 
'  Tis  a  will-o'-the-wisp  ;  but  you're  never  too  near  it : 

'  'Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' 
Married  her — ho ! 
'Twas  a  long  time  ago ; 
But  why,  is  a  secret  you  never  will  know : 
Let  us  hope  'twas  a  love  match,  for  weal  or  for  woe, 

When  Will-married-the-widow! 


31 


A  LITTLE  THANKFUL  SONG 

FOR  what  are  we  thankful  for ?     For  this 
For  the  breath  and  the  sunlight  of  life : 
For  the  love  of  the  child,  and  the  kiss 
On  the  lips  of  the  mother  and  wife. 
For  roses  entwining, 

For  bird  and  for  bloom, 
And  hopes  that  are  shining 
Like  stars  in  the  gloom. 

For  what  are  we  thankful  for  ?     For  this : 

The  strength  and  the  patience  of  toil ; 
For  even  the  dreams  that  are  bliss — 
The  hope  of  the  seed  in  the  soil. 
For  souls  that  are  whiter 

From  day  unto  day ; 
And  lives  that  are  brighter 
From  going  God's  way. 
32 


A    LITTLE    THANKFUL    SONG 

For  what  are  we  thankful  for  ?     For  all : 
The  sunlight — the  shadow — the  song; 
The  blossoms  may  wither  and  fall, 
But  the  world  moves  in  music  along! 
For  simple,  sweet  living, 

('Tis  love  that  doth  teach  it) 
A  heaven  forgiving 

And  faith  that  can  reach  it ! 


33 


CLARISSE 

KISS  you?     Wherefore  should  I,  sweet? 
Casual  kissing  I  condemn  ; 
Other  lips  your  lips  will  meet 

When  my  kisses  die  on  them  ! 

Should  I  grieve  that  this  should  be  ? 

—  if  you  will  kiss,  kiss  me  ! 


Love  you  ?     That  were  vainer  still  ! 

If  you  win  my  love  to-day, 
When  the  morrow  comes  you  will 

Lightly  laugh  that  love  away  ! 
Should  I  grieve  that  this  should  be  ? 
Nay  —  if  you  must  love,  love  me! 

Wherefore  play  these  fickle  parts  ? 

Life  and  love  will  soon  be  done  ! 
Think  you  God  made  human  hearts 

Just  for  you  to  tread  upon  ? 
Will  you  break  them,  nor  repine  ? 
If  you  will,  Clarisse,  break  mine! 


34 


LIGHT  ON  THE  HILLS 

DYING,  they  lifted  his  curly  head, 
And  he  looked  to  the  east,  and  smiling  said 
"It's  light  on  the  hills!" 
And  he  went  away,  in  the  morning  bright, 
With  that  last,  sweet,  quivering  word  of  "  Light*' 
On  the  lips  Death  kissed  to  a  silence  long.   .   .   . 
So  ends  the  sighing,  and  so  ends  the  song. 

And  I  think  that  Death,  with  his  icy  breath, 
Was  kind  to  him ;  and  I'm  friend  with  Death 

For  that  light  on  the  hills ! 
Back  of  it — back  of  it  glooms  the  Night, 
Dark  and  lonely ;  but  all  was  light 
When  his  lips  were  laid  in  the  silence  long.   .   .   . 

So  ends  the  sighing,  and  so  ends  the  song. 

35 


LIGHT    ON    THE    HILLS 

If  I  remember  his  brief,  bright  years 

With  the  pang  at  the  heart — with  the  falling  of  tears, 

There  is  light  on  the  hills! 
But  he  sleeps  beneath,  and  the  light's  above, 
And  something  is  lost  to  the  world  in  love. 
And  heaven  knows  this  ;  but  it  does  no  wrong.   .  .   . 

So  ends  the  sighing,  and  so  ends  the  song. 

"  There  is  light  on  the  hills."     So  we  sing,  so  we  say, 
When  God  sends  His  angel  to  kiss  it  away — 

There  is  light  on  the  hills ! 

And  we  kneel  in  the  darkness  and  say  that  we  trust. 
When  heaven's  not  as  dear  as  our  love  in  the  dust! — 
As   the    love    that  it    reaps  —  that    it   keeps    from   us 
long.   .    .   . 

So  ends  the  sighing,  and  so  ends  the  song. 


LINNIE'S  HAIR 

OVER  my  dreaming  heart  I  wear 
A  little  lock  of  Linnie's  hair; 
A  soft  wind  from  the  far,  sweet  west, 
Kissing  it,  tossed  it  to  my  breast, 
And  with  sweet  farewells  left  it  there — 
This  little  lock  of  Linnie's  hair. 

And  not  the  long  and  lonesome  years, 
With  days  of  sorrow,  nights  of  tears ; 
And  not  the  changing  of  the  skies — 
The  sundered  hands,  the  darkened  eyes, 
Haved  dimmed  the  beauty,  golden  fair, 
Of  this  lone  lock  of  Linnie's  hair. 

Ere  her  sweet  kiss  on  it  was  cold 

I  wrought  for  it  a  frame  of  gold ; 

But  gold  is  bought  and  sold  ;   and  so, 

My  heart  enshrined  it  long  ago. 

And  down  to  death  that  heart  shall  bear 

This  little  lock  of  Linnie's  hair. 

37 


LINNIE'S  HAIR 

O  ships  upon  the  tropic  seas! 
Your  sails  bend  not  to  any  breeze 
As  sweet  as  that  which  tenderly 
Tossed  Linnie's  tresses  over  me ! 
And  left  this  witness  lying  there — 
Which  I  in  life  and  death  shall  wear- 
This  little  lock  of  Linnie's  hair! 


MOTHERHOOD 

npHOU  shalt  have  grace  where  glory  is  forgot ; 
1       The  love  all  luminous  in  the  world's  last  night; 
Thy  children's  arms  shall  be  thy  necklace  bright, 

And  all  love's  roses  clamber  to  thy  cot. 

And  if  a  storm  one  steadfast  star  should  blot 

From  they  pure  heaven,  God's  angels  shall  relight 
The  lamps  for  thee,  and  make  the  darkness  white ; 

The  lilies  of  His  love  shall  be  thy  lot ! 

He  shall  give  all  His  angels  charge  of  thee ; 

Thy  coming  and  thy  going  shall  be  known. 
Their  steps  shall  shine  before  thee  radiantly, 

Lest  thou  shouldst  dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone. 
The  cross  still  stands.     Who  shall  that  love  condemn 
Whose  mother-lips  kissed  Christ  at  Bethlehem  ? 


39 


HIS  GRANDMOTHER'S  WAY 

rT">ELL  you,  gran' mother's  a  queer  one,  shore — 

I       Makes  yer  heart  go  pitty-pat ! 
If  the  wind  jest  happens  to  open  a  door, 

She'll  say  there's  "  a  sign  "  in  that! 
An'  if  no  one  ain't  in  a  rockin'-chair 
An'  it  rocks  itself,  she'll  say:   "Oh,  dear! 

Oh,  dear!   Oh,  my! 
I'm  af eared  'at  somebody  is  goin'  to  die!" 

An'  she  makes  me  cry — 

She  makes  me  cry! 

Once  wuz  a  owl  'at  happened  to  light 

On  our  tall  chimney-top, 
An'  screamed  an'  screamed  in  the  dead  o'  night, 

An'  nuthin'  could  make  it  stop ! 
An'  gran' ma — she  uncovered  her  head 
An'  almos'  frightened  me  out  the  bed : 

4 'Oh,  dear!   Oh,  my! 
I'm  certain  'at  some  one  is  goin'  to  die!" 
An*  she  made  me  cry — 
She  made  me  cry! 
40 


HIS  GRANDMOTHER'S  WAY 

Jest  let  a  cow  lean  over  the  gate 
An'  bellow,  an'  gran'ma — she 
Will  say  her  prayers,  if  it's  soon  or  late, 

An*  shake  her  finger  at  me ! 
An*  then,  an'  then  you'll  hear  her  say: 
"It's  a  sign  w'en  the  cattle  act  that  way! 

Oh,  dear!   Oh,  my! 

I'm  certain  'at  somebody's  goin'  to  die!" 
Oh,  she  makes  me  cry — 
She  makes  me  cry! 

Skeeriest  person  you  ever  seen! 

Always  a-huntin'  fer  "signs"  ; 
Says  it's  "spirits"  'at's  good,  or  mean, 

If  the  wind  jest  shakes  the  vines ! 
I  always  feel  skeery  w'en  gran'ma' s  aroun' — 
An'  think  'at  I  see  things,  an'  jump  ateachsoun' 

"Oh,  dear!    Oh,  my! 
I'm  certain  'at  somebody's  goin'  to  die!" 

Oh,  she  makes  me  cry — 

She  makes  me  cry! 


BENEATH  THE  MISTLETOE 

HOW  do  Sweet  Margaret's  dimples  race 
Around  the  roses  of  her  face ! 
And  I  dare  swear  the  force  that  stirs 

The  flower  that  doth  her  bosom  grace, 
Is  that  tumultuous  heart  of  hers ! 

Who'll  wager  on  the  dimple  race? 
My  glove,  my  glory  and  my  bliss 
That  love  can  catch  them  with  a  kiss ! 

How  do  Sweet  Margaret's  fingertips 

Shield  the  rare  ruby  of  her  lips ! 

But  I  dare  swear  her  snow-white  hand 

That  doth  the  crimson  so  eclipse, 
Shall  fall  before  her  heart's  command! 

Who'll  race  the  rose-way  to  her  lips? 
My  glove,  my  glory  and  my  bliss 
Love  wins  the  ruby  with  a  kiss ! 


42 


WHEN  THE  LITTLE  BOY  RAN  AWAY 

WHEN  the  little  boy  ran  away  from  home 
The  birds  in  the  treetops  knew, 
And  they  all  sang  "Stay!'*  But  he  wandered  away 

Under  the  skies  of  blue. 

And  the  Wind  came  whispering  from  the  tree : 
"Follow  me — follow  me!" 

And  it  sang  him  a  song  that  was  soft  and  sweet, 
And  scattered  the  roses  before  his  feet 

That  day — that  day 

When  the  little  boy  ran  away. 

The  Violets  whispered:   "Your  eyes  are  blue 

And  lovely  and  bright  to  see ; 
And  so  are  mine,  and  I'm  kin  to  you, 

So  dwell  in  the  light  with  me!" 
But  the  little  boy  laughed,  while  the  Wind  in  glee 
Said:   "Follow  me — follow  me!" 

43 


WHEN    THE    LITTLE    BOY    RAN    AWAY 

And  the  Wind  called  the  clouds  from  their  home  in  the 

skies 
And  said  to  the  Violet:   "Shut  your  eyes!" 

That  day — that  day 

When  the  little  boy  ran  away. 

Then  the  Wind  played  leap-frog  over  the  hills 

And  twisted  each  leaf  and  limb ; 
And  all  the  rivers  and  all  the  rills 

Were  foaming  mad  with  him ! 
And  'twas  dark  as  the  darkest  night  could  be, 
But  still  came  the  Wind's  voice:   "Follow  me!" 
And  over  the  mountain,  and  up  from  the  hollow 
Came  echoing  voices,  with:    "Follow  him— follow!" 

That  awful  day 

When  the  little  boy  ran  away ! 

Then  the  little  boy  cried:   "Let  me  go — let  me  go!" 

For  a  scared — scared  boy  was  he  ! 
But  the  Thunder  growled  from  a  black  cloud :    "No  !" 

And  the  Wind  roared:    "Follow  me  !" 
And  an  old  gray  Owl  from  a  treetop  flew, 
Saying:   "Who  are  you-oo?  Who  are  you-oo?" 

44 


WHEN    THE    LITTLE    BOY    RAN    AWAY 

And  the  little  boy  sobbed:   "I'm  lost  away, 
And  I  want  to  go  home  where  my  parents  stay!" 

Oh,  the  awful  day 

When  the  little  boy  ran  away  ! 

Then  the  Moon  looked  out  from  a  cloud  and  said 

"Are  you  sorry  you  ran  away? 
If  I  light  you  home  to  your  trundle  bed, 

Will  you  stay,  little  boy,  will  you  stay?" 
And  the  little  boy  promised — and  cried  and  cried- 
He  would  never  leave  his  mother's  side; 
And  the  Moonlight  led  him  over  the  plain 
And  his  mother  welcomed  him  home  again. 

But  oh,  what  a  day 

When  the  little  boy  ran  away  ! 


45 


THE  SHIPS  AT  SEA 

r"T*HE  ship  has  put  to  sea, 

1       And  the  sailors  merrily 

'Neath   the   wind-blown   sails  are  singing  of  the  fairy 
shores  to  be. 

They  are  singing,  they  are  singing, 
While  the  harbor-bells  are  ringing 

Farewell  unto  the  brave  ship  like  a  gull  the  ocean  wing 
ing  ! 

They  ask  not  where  they  steer 
'Neath  the  stormy  skies  and  clear, 

But  their  trust  is  in  their  captain,  and  the  billows  bring 
no  fear. 

Though  thick  the  dangers  throng, 
Yet  the  voyage  is  not  long, 

And   the   dark  brings  dreams  of  morning  in  the  rosy 
realms  of  song. 


THE    SHIPS    AT    SEA 

They  dream,  in  storm  and  star, 
Of  the  shores  where  white  ships  are, 
And  dreaming,  hear  the  music  of  the  harbor-bells  afar. 

Fair  shores,  in  peace  empearled, 
Where  the  sea-torn  flags  are  furled, 
Whose  songs  of  welcome  win  them  from  God's  high 
way  o'er  the  world. 

And  so,  they  sail,  and  dream 
Of  a  lovelier  morning's  beam, 

With   all  their  white  sails  bending,  and  all  their  lights 
a-gleam. 

They  fare  through  storm  and  night, 
But  no  dangers  can  affright ; 

For  their  trust  is  in  their  captain,  and  the  harbor  is  in 
sight ! 


47 


AT  THE  TWILIGHT  GATE 

OLD,  old,  old!    .   .   .   And  I  think  I've  lived  my  day, 
And  folks  that  are  old  as  I  am  had  better  be  out 

of  the  way ; 

Had  better  be  lying  asleep  under  the  grasses  deep, 
Where  the  crickets  cry  for  lonesomeness,  and  the  long, 
cold  shadows  creep. 


Old,  old,  old!   .   .       It  was  only  a  year  age 

A  month — a  day — as  I  may  say,  I  stood  where  the  vio 
lets  blow, 

And  the  wind  came  over  the  meadows  whispering — 
whispering  sweet, 

And  the  birds  sang  in  the  blossoms  that  rained  their  red 
at  my  feet. 

My  eyes  were  as  blue  as  the  sky  then — blue  as  the  sky, 

and  bright, 
And   if  ever  a  tear  came  trembling,  it  was  lost  in  the 

April  light ; 

4s 


AT    THE    TWILIGHT    GATE 

The  red  o'  the  rose  was  on  my  cheek — so  wrinkled  now 
and  old, 

And  he  said  my  curls  were  shiny  with  all  o'  the  sun 
flower's  gold. 

I  was  there  at  the  golden  gate,  and  he  was  standing  by ; 
And  the  doves  were  flying  over,  an'  we  heard  the  kil- 

dee's  cry; 
And  the  silver  bells  o'  the  thrushes  were  tinkling  in 

copses  dim, 
And  the  sweetest  o*  the  violets  I  kissed  and  gave  to  him. 

And  some  one  was  calling — calling  to  come  to  the  house 
hold  cares, 

And  I  mind  that  when  he  left  me  my  cheeks  were  wet 
with  tears — 

Not  the  tears  that  I  weep  to-day,  for  they  are  bitter, 
and  burn! 

But  the  tears  of  a  first,  sweet  love — that  had  no  lessons 
to  learn. 

Old,  old,  old!    .   .   .  An*  yet,  it  was  yesterday 

My  little  ones  were  around  me,  and  knelt  at  my  knees 

to  pray 
4  49 


AT    THE    TWILIGHT    GATE 

The  child-prayers,  morning  and  evening,  with  the  love- 
light  on  each  brow — 

Asking  God  to  bless  the  mother  that  God's  forgotten 
now! 

And  then,  while  I  was  dreaming  sweet  dreams  'neath 
a  morning  sky, 

They  came  to  me  and  kissed  me  a  last  and  sad  good-by ; 

And  some  sent  comfort  to  me  from  far  and  far  away, 

And  some  I'll  see  no  more — no  more,  until  God's  judg 
ment  day. 

If  my  children  were  around  me-  -could  I  see  in  the  fire 
light's  shine 

That's  flickering  out  like  my  life,  the  face — the  face  of 
a  child  of  mine, 

And  hear  him  call  me,  "Mother!"  d'ye  think  that  I'd 
mind  to-day 

The  looks  that  tell  me  I've  lived  too  long — the  lips  that 
wish  me  away? 


5° 


AT    THE    TWILIGHT    GATE 

I  held  'em  in  my  arms — I  nursed  'em  at  my  breast, 
And  I  said:    "In  God's  good  time  they'll  come  to  lead 

me  into  rest; 
And  the  twilight  will  be  sweet,  an'  they'll  shelter  my 

age  from  harms, 
And  death'll   come  like  a  dream,  an'  I'll  fall  asleep  in 

their  arms." 

But  here  I  wait  alone — alone  while  the  shadows  creep, 
And  hear  the  crickets  crying  in  the  graveyard  grasses 

deep; 
They  seem  to  be  calling,  calling — and  the  shadows  seem 

to  say: 

II  You  are  only  a  shadow  in  the  light,  and  the  light  must 

have  its  way ! ' ' 

The  world  has  left  me  alone.     How  strange  that  the 

good  Lord  sends 

To  youth  a  rosy  pathway,  and  plenty  of  love  and  friends ; 
And  twines  the  arms  of  your  children  round  you  in  life's 

sweet  May ; 
And  then,  when  the  night  falls  dreary,  takes  the  love 

and  the  light  away  ! 

5' 


AT    THE    TWILIGHT    GATE 

Love  that  wooed  an'  won  me — all  o'  the  love  He  gave, 
Comes  to  me  now  in  the  darkness  like  echoes  over  my 

grave ; 
And  strange,  and  strange  that  he  leaves  me  here,  where 

now  no  love  is  seen, 
When  'twixt  my  own  and  heaven  there's  only  a  grave 

of  green  ! 

At  every  click  o'  the  latch  at  morn,  or  evening  late, 
I  raise  my  eyes  and  ask  'em  if  Death  is  at  the  gate? 
But  Life  comes  in  with  cheeks  of  bloom,  and  jrose  and 

violet ; 
And  I  clasp  my  wrinkled  hands  and  moan:   "Not  yet — 

not  yet — not  yet  !" 

And  then  Life  brings  a  violet  and  lays  it  in  my  hand, 
And  once  more  at  the  gate  of  Life  beside  my  own  I 

stand ; 

And  the  silver  bells  o'  the  thrushes  tinkle  in  copses  dim  ; 
But  the  sweetest  o'  the  violets  were  those  I  kissed  for 

him  ! 


AT    THE    TWILIGHT    GATE 

Old,  old,  old  !  .   .   .  And  I  know  that  I've  spent  my 

day; 

The  world  that  I  am  living  in  is  far  and  far  away ; 
Far  and  far  away,  where  the  old-time  meadows  be ; 
And  none  to  take  my  hand  now,  and  walk  that  way 

with  me! 

Better  far  to  be  lying  under  the  grasses  deep 

Where  the  crickets  cry  for  lonesomeness,  and  the  long, 

last  shadows  creep ; 
There  will  be  violets  sweet  to  grow  over  my  grave  so 

dim ; 
But  the  sweetest  of  the  violets  were  those  I  kissed  for 

him! 


53 


EUGENE  FIELD 

FADES  his  calm  face  beyond  our  mortal  ken, 
Lost  in  the  light  of  lovelier  realms  above ; 
He  left  sweet  memories  in  the  hearts  of  men 

And  climbed  to  God  on  little  children's  love. 


54 


A  BOY'S  VIEW  OF  IT 

MOTHER — she's  always  a-sayin%  she  is, 
Boys  must  be  looked  after — got  to  be  strict ; 
When  I  tear  my  breeches  like  Billy  tears  his, 

It  helps  'em  considerable  when  I  am  licked! 
But  it  ain't  leapin'  over  the  fence  or  the  post — 
It's  jest  that  same  lickin*  at  tears  'em  the  most! 

Mother — she's  always  a-sayin'  to  me, 

Boys  must  have  people  to  foller  'em  roun' ; 

Never  kin  tell  where  they're  goin'  to  be ; 
Sure  to  git  lost,  an*  then  have  to  be  foun*. 

An'  then — when  they  find  'em,  they're  so  full  of  joy 

They  can't  keep  from  lovin'  an'  lickin'  the  boy! 

There's  Jimmy  Johnson — got  lost  on  the  road  ; 

Daddy  wuz  drivin'  to  market  one  day, 
Fell  out  the  wagon,  an'  nobody  knowed 

Till  they  come  to  a  halt,  an'  his  daddy  said:    "Hey! 
Wonder  where  Jimmy  is  gone  to?"     But  Jim — 
Warn't  no  two  hosses  could  keep  up  with  him ! 

55 


A    BOY'S    VIEW    OF    IT 

Jest  kept  agoin',  an*  got  to  a  place 

Where  wuz  a  circus ;  took  up  with  the  clown, 

Cut  off  his  ringlets  and  painted  his  face, 

An*  then  come  right  back  to  his  daddy's  own  town ! 

An'  what  do  you  reckon?     His  folks  didn't  know, 

An'  paid  to  see  Jimmy  that  night  in  the  show ! 

An'  there's  Billy  Jenkins — he  jest  run  away 
(Folks  at  his  house  wuzn't  treatin'  him  right)  ; 

Went  to  the  place  where  the  red  Injuns  stay ; 

An'  once,  when  his  daddy  wuz  travelin'  at  night 

An'  the  Injuns  took  after  him,  hollerin'  loud, 

Bill  run  to  his  rescue,  an'  scalped  the  whole  crowd! 


No  use  in  talkin' — boys  don't  have  no  show! 

Wuzn't  fer  people  a-follerin'  'em  roun', 
Jest  ain't  no  tellin*  how  fast  they  would  grow; 

Bet  you  they'd  fool  everybody  in  town ! 
But  mother — she  says  they  need  lickin',  an'  so 
They're  too  busy  hollerin'  to  git  up  an'  grow! 

56 


WITH  OLD-TIME  FRIENDS 

HOW  welcome  on  this  winter  night 
Would  be  the  comfortable  light 
Of  some  old,  mossy,  gabled  inn 
Where  Canterbury  folk  have  been ! 
A  corner  where  the  Boar's  Head  sign 
Invited  travelers  to  dine ; 
WThere  friend  Jack  Falstaff  all  forlorn 
Came  posting  from  Gad's  Hill  that  morn 
And  boisterously  called  for  sack, 
And  beat  the  rogues  in  buckram  back ! 

How  welcome  by  the  bright  blaze  there 
The  prince's  pleasantry  to  hear  ! 
To  have  "lean  Jack"  a  toast  propose 
Where  burned  the  fly  on  Bardolph's  nose 


57 


WITH    OLD-TIME    FRIENDS 

Or,  housed  with  Justice  Shallow  slim, 
Prate  of  the  days  of  youth  with  him  ! 
What  more,  good  friends,  hath  life  to  win 
Than  one's  own  ease  in  one's  own  inn? 

How  fair  would  be  the  Christian  luck 
That  led  my  steps  to  Friar  Tuck ; 
To  see  in  his  deceptive  cell 
The  hero  of  Saint  Dunstan's  well, 
And  mark  him  spread  his  homely  fare 
To  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion  there ; 
And  by  some  secret  spell  or  sign 
Transform  the  water  into  wine  ! 
Ah,  were  we  there,  each  merry  wight 
Would  have  a  rouse  this  winter  night  ! 

'Sdeath  !  but  the  friendly  folk  of  old 
Had  arts  wherewith  to  charm  the  cold  ! 
The  coaches  lumbering  along 
Were  rife  with  story  and  with  song ; 
And  o'er  the  frozen  ways  and  white 
The  inn-fires  flashed  their  cheerful  light ; 

58 


WITH    OLD-TIME    FRIENDS 

What  cared  they  for  the  wintry  hail 
In  the  companionship  of  ale  ? 
The  hooded  friar  told  his  tale ; 
No  more  the  justice  meant — the  jail ; 
Mine  host  beamed  rosy-faced  and  fair, 
And  joined  the  nightly  revel  there  ! 
Zounds  !  how  the  memory  lures  me  back  ! 
Sirrah,  a  cup  of  sack — of  sack  ! 


59 


A  SONG  OF  LOVE 

HOW  love  is  wrought  about  us 
In  stormy  scenes  and  fair ! 
Within  us  and  without  us 
All  life  is  love,  my  dear! 

Love  in  the  wild  winds  blowing — 
Love  in  the  dark  and  light, 

The  reaping  and  the  sowing, 
The  red  rose  and  the  white. 

Love  in  the  blue  above  us, 
Love  in  the  boundless  deep ! 

O  Love,  still  lead  and  love  us 
Till  on  thy  breast  we  sleep. 


60 


A  MEMORY  OF  HIM 


"    A     LITTLE  Book  of  Western  Verse"- 
Jl     Without  the  skies  are  snowing ; 
The  spirits  of  the  night  rehearse 
Life's  drama ;  winds  are  blowing. 

The  phantom  flakes  against  the  pane ; 

They  cling  there  weirdly — whitely ; 
And  yet  the  bloom  is  on  the  grain 

And  summer  winds  blow  lightly ! 

Flutelike  across  far  fields  of  wheat 
And  plains  to  sunset  streaming 

Drifts  southward,  mystical  and  sweet, 
A  dreamer's  voice  in  dreaming. 

A  dreamer  in  the  dark  unseen : 
But  where  the  maples  shiver 

The  light  illuminates  the  green — 
The  song  thrills  through  the  river. 
61 


A    MEMORY    OF    HIM 

And  here,  beside  the  windy  blaze, 
With  night  and  storm  around  me, 

An  echo  from  melodious  days — 

The  dreamer's  voice  hath  found  me! 

And  one  unto  my  heart  is  prest, 
Sweet  memories  of  him  bringing ; 

And  one  smiles  on  the  mother's  breast, 
Lulled  by  his  gentle  singing. 

And  one — asleep  beneath  the  storm, 
Life's  grace,  life's  glory  summing; 

Whose  curls  may  keep  the  violets  warm, 
Loved  well  the  dreamer's  coming. 

O  storm  without !   and  light  within ! 

O  wan  snows  coldly  gleaming! 
What  hope,  what  joy  hath  life  to  win? 

Read  me  the  dreams  I'm  dreaming! 

But  lo!   above  his  life's  page  beams 
A  light  no  storm  shall  smother ; 

God's  own  good-morning  to  thy  dreams, 
Singer,  and  friend,  and  brother! 
62 


THE  FACES  HE  LOVED  TO  THE  LAST 


NDED  —  the  roar  and  the  rattle, 
•  ^      The  clash  and  the  clamor  that  made 
The  wrath  and  the  red  of  the  battle  — 

The  shouts  of  the  charging  brigade. 
And  over  his  rest  in  the  meadow 

The  shadow  forever  is  cast, 
But  faces  smile  sweet  from  the  shadow  — 

The  faces  he  loved  to  the  last! 

His  sword  rusts  in  silence  beside  him  — 

His  brave  heart  is  hidden  in  dust  ; 
But  whatever  his  country  denied  him, 

He  was  true  to  his  love  and  his  trust. 
And  under  the  light  and  the  blossom  — 

Like  spirits  that  speak  from  the  past, 
They  found  on  the  dust  of  his  bosom 

The  faces  he  loved  to  the  last. 


THE  FACES  HE  LOVED  TO  THE  LAST 

The  last  lips  that  kissed  him  and  blessed  him 

When  he  went  to  the  death-darkened  strife ; 
The  child-arms  that  clasped  and  caressed  him 

And  kissed  his  heart's  love  into  life! 
They  smile  from  the  shadows  around  him — 

In  death's  dim  embraces  held  fast; 
They  were  there  on  his  breast  when  they  found 
him — 

The  faces  he  loved  to  the  last. 

And  death  becomes  tender  and  human, 

That  still,  in  the  ruin  of  years, 
Hath  spared  the  sweet  face  of  a  woman 

And  given  it  back  to  our  tears  ! 
And  the  rose  would  seem  sweeter  above  him 

For  all  of  the  dark  shadows  cast, 
Could  he  know  that  these  faces  still  love  him — 

The  faces  he  loved  to  the  last ! 


IN  LOVE'S  TENDER  KEEPING 

HOLD  me  a  little  away  from  the  world, 
Dear  arms  !  with  your  tenderest  clinging ; 
The  bird  with  its  breast  to  the  blue  singeth  sweet, 

But  the  stars  never  answer  its  singing. 
The  cold  lights  but  lure  us  to  lead  us  astray ; 
The  thorn's  in  the  red  of  the  rose  of  the  May — 
Lead  me  to  love,  dear,  and  teach  me  to  pray. 

Hold  me  a  little  away  from  the  world, 

Dear  arms  !  with  your  firm  clasp  and  tender; 
For  the  lights  on  the  heights  stream  through  desolate 

nights — 

A  tempest  of  tears  in  the  splendor. 

'Tis  the  gleam  and  the  dream  that  would  lead  us  astray : 
The  keen  thorns  have  crimsoned  the  roses  of  May — 
Lead  me  to  love,  dear,  and  teach  me  to  pray. 


HIS  MOTHER'S  KISS 

IT  was  her  wont  when,  tired  of  play, 
He  to  her  bosom  crept, 
With  golden  hair  in  disarray, 

To  kiss  him  as  he  slept. 
And  still  her  plea  would  be  but  this : 
"I  shall  not  wake  him  with  a  kiss  !" 

So  heavenly- sweet  his  sleeping  face — 

So  beautiful  and  bright, 
I  know  the  angels  lift  the  lace 
To  kiss  my  boy  good-night ! 
For  still  he  smiles  in  dreams  of  bliss: 
"How  should  I  wake  him  with  a  kiss?" 

So  did  his  mother  say  ;  and  when 
God  whispered  His  sweet  will, 

She  only  moaned:   "He  sleeps  !"  and  then, 
Kneeling,  she  kissed  him  still. 

And  weeping,  murmured  only  this : 
"I  can  not  wake  him  with  a  kiss  !" 


66 


OUR  POETRY  FARM 

IF  ever,  my  dearest,  your  will  is 
Inclined  to  the  meadows  that  charm, 
When  you're  spending  a  day  with  the  lilies, 
Pray,  pause  at  our  Poetry  Farm. 

It's  far  from  the  poetry-makers 

Who  dwell  in  grim  castles  of  gloom ; 

It  covers  the  loveliest  acres 

That  ever  gave  birth  to  a  bloom  ! 

There's  a  Pegasus  placidly  plowing 

(I  have  reined  him  with  jessamine  vines), 

And  off  he  goes  braying  and  bowing 
While  I  pull  at  the  redolent  lines. 

Around  him  the  wild  doves  are  winging — 
The  sunbeams  sweet  messages  send, 

And  the  mocking  bird's  musical  singing 
Lures  him  on  to  the  furrow's  bright  end. 


OUR    POETRY    FARM 

When  the  world  is  athrill  with  the  May-time 
And  the  sap's  in  the  gladdened  green  trees, 

In  the  deeps  of  the  flowery  daytime 
We  win  the  wild  kiss  of  the  breeze. 

And  red  and  white  roses  come  climbing 
In  the  mystical  song-laden  hours ; 

And  sweetly  the  heather  bell's  chiming, 
As  we  plow  up  rare  poems  in  flowers ! 

We  lightly  pass  over  the  stubble, 

And  reap  where  the  goldenrods  gleam ; 

The  sharp  thorns  we  circuit — like  trouble, 
And  drift  where  the  white  daisies  dream. 

The  sunflower's  our  epic,  that  rises 
And  fearlessly  flames  to  the  sky ; 

And  there  a  rare  love-song  surprises 
Where  velvety  violets  lie. 

We  gather  them  all,  and  we  bind  them 

In  little  bright  bundles  of  song: 
'Come  find  them,  ye  lovers  !    Come  find  them, 

And  bring  all  your  sweethearts  along !" 
68 


OUR   POETRY    FARM 

And  they  come,  from  the  loneliest  places, 
And  they  come  from  the  East  and  the  West ; 

And  they  leave  with  the  light  on  their  faces, 
And  a  red  rose  of  love  on  each  breast ! 

So,  my  dear,  if  it  ever  your  will  is 

To  seek  the  green  meadows  that  charm, 

When  you're  out  for  a  day  with  the  lilies, 
Pray,  pause  at  our  Poetry  Farm  ! 


A  SONG  OF  SEASONS 

THERE'S  joy,  my  dear,  in  the  youth  o'  the  year, 
When  the  hearts  o'  the  bright  buds  break 
And  the  skies  are  blue  as  the  eyes  o'  you, 

And  the  blooms  blow  over  the  lake. 
There's  joy,  my  dear,  for  the  world  is  fair, 
And  love  is  the  sweetest  blossom  there  ! 

There's  joy,  my  dear,  in  the  noon  o'  the  year, 

When  the  harvest  hints  o'  gold, 
And  the  soft  sun  streams  with  its  gleams  and  dreams 

On  your  beautiful  hair  unrolled. 
There's  joy,  my  dear,  for  the  world  is  fair, 
And  love  is  the  blossom  that's  brightest  there. 

There's  joy,  my  dear,  in  the  gray  o'  the  year, 

When  the  snows  are  drifting  white, 
And  the  cold  winds  cry  to  the  starless  sky 

And  the  last  rose  weeps :    "Good-night  !" 
There's  joy,  my  dear,  for  the  world  is  fair, 
While  your  love  like  a  lily  is  blooming  there  ! 


A  KILTED  GENIUS 

HIS  mother  is  his  worshiper 
And  followeth  east  and  west 
To  kiss  the  noisy  trumpeter 

Who  summons  me  from  rest. 

(He  hath  so  much  the  look  of  her 

I  needs  must  love  him  best  !) 

That  he  in  sculpture  shall  excel 

I  do  devoutly  trust, 
For  he  hath  wrought  a  miracle 

On  my  dear  Shakespeare's  bust: 
Tasso  beside  him  fares  not  well — 

His  laurel  laid  in  dust ! 

For  learning  all  the  world  shall  seek 
His  footstool — so  I  deem  ; 

He  hath  a  play-house  built  of  Greek 
And  many  a  Latin  theme. 

Homer  hath  kissed  his  rosy  cheek 
And  Dante  shared  his  dream. 

71 


A   KILTED    GENIUS 

That  Art  shall  flourish  'neath  his  sway 
There  is  no  cause  to  doubt ; 

Finding  a  Rembrandt  far  too  gray 
And  somber  round  about, 

With  little  lines  of  red  to-day 
He  brought  its  beauties  out  ! 

Soldier  and  citizen  and  sage 

And  scholar  shall  he  be ; 
His  life  a  book  wherein  no  page 

Hath  any  print  of  me  ; — 
He  doth  partake  of  some  great  age 

In  Time's  obscurity! 

His  mother  is  his  worshiper 
And  followeth  east  and  west ; 

Whatever  he  loves  she  doth  prefer 
To  call  that  thing  most  blest  ! 

(He  hath  so  much  the  look  of  her 
I  needs  must  love  him  best !) 


AT  THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

WHERE  the  rough  road  turns,  and  the  valley  sweet 
Smiles  bright  with  its  balm  and  bloom, 
We'll  forget  the  thorns  that  have  pierced  the  feet 

And  the  nights  with  their  grief  and  gloom, 
And  the  sky  will  smile,  and  the  stars  will  beam, 
And  we'll  lay  us  down  in  the  light  to  dream. 

We  shall  lay  us  down  in  the  bloom  and  light 

With  a  prayer  and  a  tear  for  rest, 
As  tired  children  who  creep  at  night 

To  the  love  of  a  mother's  breast. 
And  for  all  the  grief  of  the  stormy  past, 
Rest  shall  be  sweeter  at  last — at  last ! 

Sweeter  because  of  the  weary  way 

And  the  lonesome  night  and  long, 
While  the  darkness  drifts  to  the  perfect  day 

With  its  splendor  of  light  and  song. 
The  light  that  shall  bless  us  and  kiss  us  and  love  us 
And  sprinkle  the  roses  of  heaven  above  us ! 


73 


THE  RUNAWAY  TOYS 

THE  Hobby  Horse  was  so  tired  that  day, 
With  never  a  bite  to  eat, 
That  he  whispered  the  Doll:  "I  shall  run  away  !" 

And  he  galloped  out  to  the  street 
With  the  curly-headed  Doll  Baby  on  his  back ; 
And  hard  at  his  heels  went  the  Jumping  Jack  ! 
And  the  little  boy — he  never  knew, 
Though  the  little  Steam  Engine  blew  and  blew  ! 

Then  the  Humming  Top  went  round  and  round, 

And  crashed  through  the  window-pane, 
And  the  scared  Tin  Monkey  made  a  bound 

For  the  little  red  Railroad  Train 
The  painted  Duck  went  "Quack  !  quack  !  quack  !" 
But  the  Railroad  Train  just  whistled  back  ! 
Till  the  Elephant  saw  what  the  racket  meant 
And  packed  his  trunk  and — away  he  went  ! 

74 


THE    RUNAWAY    TOYS 

The  little  Toy  Sheep  in  the  corner  there 

Was  bleating  long  and  loud ; 
But  the  Parrot  said  "Hush  !"  and  pulled  his  hair, 

And  he  galloped  off  with  the  crowd  ! 
And  the  Tin  Horn  blew  and  the  Toy  Drum  beat, 
But  away  they  went  down  the  frightened  street, 
Till  they  all  caught  up  with  the  Railroad  Train, 
And  they  never  went  back  to  their  homes  again  ! 

The  blue  policeman  and  all  the  boys 

Went  racing  away — away  ! 
For  a  big  reward  for  the  runaway  Toys 

Was  cried  in  the  streets  that  day. 
But  they  kept  right  on  round  the  world  so  wide, 
While  the  Little  Boy  stood  on  the  steps  and  cried. 
Where  did  they  go  to,  and  what  did  they  do  ? 
Bored  a  hole  to  China  and — dropped  through  ! 


75 


RETRIBUTION 

ONCE,  when  I  was  poor, 
Love  knocked  at  my  door, 
1  'Some  sad  wretch/*  I  cried,  "who  begs, 
And  my  cup  drained  to  the  dregs  !" 
So  I  cursed  him  from  the  light 
Out  into  the  homeless  night. 

Once,  with  golden  store, 
I  knocked  at  Love's  sweet  door. 
"Some  sad  wretch,"  he  cried,  "whose  gold 
Deems  that  love  is  bought  and  sold  !" 
So  he  cursed  me  from  the  light 
Out  into  the  homeless  night. 


THE  CHRISTMASSE  CHILDREN 

YE  tin  horn  bloweth  loud  and  long 
Adoun  ye  noisy  street ; 
For  Christmasse  cometh,  and  a  song 

For  Christmasse  time  is  meet, 
And  ye  shall  do  the  Christ  no  wrong 
To  love  the  children  sweet. 

The  joys  that  shineth  in  the  eyes 
Of  children  charmeth  still ; 

There  is  no  man  so  great  and  wise 
But  there  shall  drink  his  fill 

Of  all  the  light  of  paradise, 
Shining  of  Christ  His  will. 

And  be  it  trump  or  tinsel  horn 
That  pleaseth  them  to  play, 

They,  maken  merrie,  shall  adorn 
The  Christ's  own  holiday. 

For  Christ  Himself  a  child  was  born 
And  loveth  them  alway  ! 

77 


THE    CHRISTMASSE    CHILDREN 

They  bloom,  the  roses  of  the  earth, 

By  all  its  sunshine  blest ; 
And  that  lone  cot  of  love  hath  dearth 

Wherein  no  children  nest. 
And  he  hath  more  than  jewel's  worth 

Who  loveth  children  best. 

Wherefore,  let  children  merrie  make 
While  bells  of  Christmasse  chime, 

And  to  thine  heart  the  darlings  take 
And  sing  them  in  thy  rhyme. 

Thou  shalt  do  this  for  Christ  His  sake, 
At  His  own  Christmasse  time  ! 


ANNETTA  JONES— HER  BOOK 

A  RARE  old  print  of  Shakespeare — his  works,  in 
boards  of  brown, 
With  quaint  engravings;  here  and  there  the  yellowed 

leaves  turned  down 
Where  sweet,   love-breathing  Juliet  speaks,  and  as  I 

lean  and  look, 

Traced   in   pale,    faded    ink,  these   words:     "Annetta 
Jones:  Her  Book/' 

(Now,  this  old  print  of  Shakespeare  I  prize,  because  'tis 
rare — 

The  gem  of  all  my  library,  in  dust  and  glory  there ; 
I  marvel  much  at  Hamlet's  ghost,  and  Banquo's  pict 
ured  bones, 

But  who — ye  gods  of  ancient  days,  was  this  "  Annetta 
Jones?" 

79 


ANNETTA    JONES HER    BOOK 

I  think  I've  heard  that  name  before, — Jones  ? — Jones  ? — 

but  that  "Annetta," 

With  odd  embroidery  around  the  first  and  final  letter, 
Is  sweet  and  quaint.   .   .    .   She  was  no  saint,  prim — 

grim  !  for  I  discover 
By  these  sublime,  marked  sentences,  Annetta  had  a  lover! 

And  I  believe  her  eyes  were  blue — her  lips  as  cherries 
red, 

And  many  a  shy,  sweet  kiss  they  knew,  and  tender 
words  they  said ; 

And  from  her  powdered  brows  gold  hair  fell  cloud-like 
— soft  and  sweet, 

Down-streaming,  gleaming,  dreaming  in.  her  silver-slip 
pered  feet! 

She  lived — she  loved — was  wedded;  the    romance  of 

her  life 
Perchance  was  toned  a  trifle  when  her  lover  called  her 

4 'wife;'' 

But  what  a  glorious  fate  is  hers  !  for  as  I  lean  and  look 
Her  name  still  shines  with  Shakespeare's: — "Annetta 

Jones:   Her  Book." 
80 


LOVE'S  WAY 

"  said  Love,  upon  a  day; 
"Come,  and  fare  my  rosy  way; 
If  perchance  the  thorns  we  meet 
They  shall  make  the  roses  sweet." 

So  with  Love  I  passed  along : 
All  the  world  was  sweet  with  song ; 
Never  thorn  was  mine,  for  he 
Hid  them  in  his  heart  from  me ! 


Si 


"THE  GRENADIERS" 

TO  R.   S.  P. 


was  singing  "The  Grenadiers,"  and  I  ii 
1  the  shadow  sat, 

And  thought  of  the  time  when  the  emperor  stood  then 

in  his  old  cocked  hat, 
And  said  to  the  guards  at  Waterloo,  when  his  star  wai 

sinking  dim: 
"There  lies  the  road  to  Brussels !"  and  how  they  dice 

for  him ! 

Pigott  was   singing  "The   Grenadiers,"  and  I  in  th( 

shadow  kept 
Time  to  his  voice's  silvery  chime ;  and  it  may  be  that  1 

wept 
When  "My  Emperor  is  Taken"  came  ringing  high  anc 

true 
And  I  saw  the  Old  Guard  charging  for  the  Man  o1 

Waterloo  J 

82 


Pigott  was  singing  "The  Grenadiers,"  and  a  star  rose 
in  the  night, 

And  I  saw  him  there,  in  the  lurid  air,  still  gazing  upon 
the  fight 

With  his  gray  coat  wrapped  around  him  and  the  En 
glish  hosts  in  view — 

The  man  for  whom  the  Old  Guard  died  on  the  field  of 
Waterloo ! 

Pigott  was  singing  "The  Grenadiers,"  and  the  battle 

raged  again, 
And  the  world  around  seemed  crimson  with  the  blood 

of  heroes  slain ! 
Pigott  was  singing  "The  Grenadiers,"   and  I,   in  the 

shadow,  knew 
The  Ghost  of  the  Man  —  the  wondrous  Man,  of  the 

field  of  Waterloo ! 


FROM   THE   SHADOW 

ARE  the  little  ones  all  at  home  ?  Answer  me  quickly 
— fearlessly,  Sweet ! 
For  I  have  been  out  in  the  world  today,  and  Death  has 

been  reaping  the  street ; 
And  it's  voiceless  for  lack  of  a  child's  sweet  voice — and 

a  man's  I  held  most  dear: 

Are  the  little  ones  all  at  home,  my  love, — and  the 
shadow  passed  so  near? 

Yes — thank  God  ! — they  are  coming !  Beat — O  glad 
heart — beat ! 

Music  of  children's  voices,  and  children's  pattering  feet ! 

Living,  to  meet — to  miss  me — full  in  my  arm's  em 
brace, — 

Climb  to  my  heart  and  kiss  me,  and  toss  your  curls  in 
my  face  ! 


FROM    THE    SHADOW 

God  be  praised  of  His  mercy — for  the  stay  of  the  iron 
rod, 

For  these  that  I  call  my  children  are  only  a  breath  from 
God— 

The  waft  of  a  rose-leaf  from  him ;  and  oft  in  the  lone 
some  night 

I  fancy  the  Shadow  is  near  them,  and  weep  till  the 
dawn  of  light. 

Come  to  the  happy  heart  of  me — come,  ere  the  Shadow 

fall! 
A  kiss  and  a  clasp  for  you — and  you  !     There  is  room 

in  my  love  for  all ! 
Come,  unheeding  the  glad,  sweet  tears  that  from  my 

eyelids  shine ; 
Tonight  —  tonight,  in  the  dear  home-light,  with  your 

mother's  hand  in  mine  ! 

O  as  I  walked    in   the  street   today — in  the  chill  and 

trampled  street, 
The  solemn  shadow  blurred  the  way  and  hid  a  child's 

face  sweet, 

85 


FROM    THE    SHADOW 

And  a  woman  went  a-wailing,  and  the  heart  in  a  man 

fell  dead, 
And   fast   to   the    dear   home-valleys    I    dreamed   the 

Shadow  fled. 

And  I  could  not  toil  for  weeping ;  for  I  heard  the  wo 
man  moan, 

And  the  Shadow  was  on  my  soul,  and  what  if  it  struck 
— my  own  ? 

And  my  heart  would  not  be  steadfast  when  the  Shadow 
passed  from  view, 

And,  dreaming,  I  came  unknowing  to  the  dear  sweet 
hearts  of  you  ! 

All  home, — thank  God  ! — save  one,  and  she  has  been 

so  long  away 
We  have  ceased  to  weep  when  the  shadows  creep  and 

gloom  o'er  the  hills  of  gray 
To  the  violet  acres  of  God,  where  they  neither  sow  nor 

reap; 
Where  Love  is  a  rose  in  the  sod — a  song  that  sings  her 

to  sleep. 

86 


FROM    THE    SHADOW 

Warm  hands  and  hearts  at  the  bright  home  fires  !     The 

wind  is  abroad  in  the  night, 
And  the  rain's  on  the  hills  .   .   .  but  the  Shadow  has 

passed  from  my  weeping  sight ; 
Up  to  my  arms !  unheeding  the  eyes  where  the  glad 

tears  shine, — 
Tonight — tonight,  in  the  sweet  home-light,  and  your 

mother's  hand  in  mine ! 


THE  LOVE  LIGHTS  OF  HOME 


bird  to  the  nest  and  the  bee  to  the  comb 
1     When  the  night  from  the  heavens  falls  dreary, 
And  Love  to  the  light  in  the  windows  of  home  — 
The  light  of  the  love  of  my  dearie  ! 

And  Love  to  the  light,  like  a  swallow  in  flight, 
When  the  storm  blows  the  stars  from  the  blue  of  the 

night  ; 

And  a  kiss  from  the  red  rose,  a  smile  from  the  white, 
In  the  gardens  that  bloom  for  my  dearie  ! 

The  ships  to  the  harbor  from  over  the  foam, 
When  the  way  has  been  stormy  and  weary, 

And  Love  to  the  light  in  the  windows  of  home  — 
The  light  of  the  love  of  my  dearie  ! 
88 


THE    LOVE    LIGHTS    OF    HOME 

And  Love  to  the  light,  like  the  bloom  from  the 

blight, 
When  the  spring  suns  weave  wonders  of  red  and  of 

white, 

And  the  darkness  of  winter  is  kissed  to  the  bright 
In  the  gardens  that  bloom  for  my  dearie. 

The  bird  to  the  nest  and  the  bee  to  the  comb, 

And  never  a  night  shall  fall  dreary 
While  the  lights  in  the  beautiful  windows  of  home 

Are  lit  by  the  love  of  my  dearie  ! 

And  Love  to  the  light,  like  a  bird  from  the  night, 
Where  angels  in  lilies  Love's  litanies  write, 
And  a  kiss  from  the  crimson,  a  smile  from  white, 
In  the  gardens  that  bloom  for  my  dearie  ! 


SUMMER'S  FAREWELL 

THE  maples  seem  to  murmur,  the  lilies  seem  to  sigh, 
For  Summer  says  good-by, 
For  Summer  says  good-by ; 

And  the  dew  upon  the  daisy's  like  a  tear-drop   from 
the  sky, 

For  Summer  says  good-by — 
Good-by ! 

The   sunflower   fain  would  follow,  the  lily  whispers, 
"Stay!" 

When  Summer  says  good-by, 
When  Summer  says  good-by ; 

In  all  the  crimson  closes  the  roses  weep;   "Delay !" 
When  Summer  says  good-by — 
Good-by ! 

But  she  calls  her  children  'round  her  'neath  the  sorrow 
of  the  sky, 

And  kisses  them  good-by, 
And  kisses  them  good-by ; 

Then  passes  from  their  presence,  while  the  echo  of  a  sigh 
Drifts  heavenward  with  "Good-by — 
Good-by !" 
90 


INDIAN  SUMMER  DAY 

THERE'S  a  lulling  song  of  locusts  and  the  hum  of 
golden  bees 
And  you  almost  hear  the  sap  flow  through  the  thrilled 

veins  of  the  trees ; 
And  the  hazy,  mazy,  dazy,  dreaming  world  around  you 

seems 

Like    a   mystic    land    enchanted  —  like    a   paradise    of 
dreams  ! 

Blue  smoke  from  happy  huts — 

A  rain  of  ripened  nuts ; 

And  far  o'er  meadows  ringing 

Sweet  sounds  as  of  a  woman  singing 
"Comin'  through  the  rye — 
"Comin'  through  the  rye  !" 

And  then  the  faint,  uncertain,  silver  tenor  of  a  bell 
That  summons  all  the  winds  to  prayer  in  many  a  clois 
tered  dell ; 

91 


INDIAN    SUMMER    DAY 

And  then — a  thrush's  music  from  groves  with  golden 

gleams, 
The  wild  note  of  the  mocking-bird — and  still  the  dreams 

-—the  dreams  ! 

Blue  smoke  from  happy  huts — 

A  rain  of  ripened  nuts ; 

And  far,  o'er  golden  meadows  ringing, 

Sweet  sounds  as  of  a  woman  singing 
"Comin'  through  the  rye — 
"Comin'  through  the  rye  !" 


92 


A  HOLIDAY  NOTE 

WITHOUT — the  snow ;    within — the  glow 
Of  flames  from  oak  logs  hissing, 
And  lips  that  'neath  the  mistletoe 
Are  red  enough  for  kissing  ! 


93 


THE  OLD  RAIL  FENCE 

THE  old  rail  fence  with  aimless  angles 
Curved  round  the  scented  fields  of  old ; 
And  wild,  blown  vines  in  quaintest  tangles 

Bloomed  there  in  purple  and  in  gold. 
And  winds  went  over,  cool  and  sweet, 
With  rivery  ripples  in  the  wheat. 

The  white  road  to  the  river  knew  it — 
The  river  running  wild  and  fleet ; 

A  cabin-path  went  winding  to  it, 

With  light  prints  of  a  boy's  bare  feet. 

And  cattle  in  the  woods  at  morn 

Roamed  by  and  nipped  the  bending  corn. 

In  corners  cool  the  plowman  rested 

When  rang  the  welcome  bells  of  noon ; 

And  there  the  thrush  and  partridge  nested 
And  sang  the  mocking-birds  of  June, 

94 


THE    OLD    RAIL    FENCE 

And  winds  were  sweet  with  muscadines, 
And  blooms  were  on  the  melon-vines. 

There  twilight  paused  in  rosy  dreaming, 

And  o'er  the  riot  of  the  rills 
When  starlight  on  the  world  was  streaming 

Rose  the  love-song  of  whippoorwills, 
And  with  the  music  and  the  stars 
Love  met  his  sweetheart  at  the  bars. 

There,  with  the  evening  shadows  falling, 

In  cabin  door  a  woman  stands ; 
And  far  and  sweet  her  voice  is  calling, 

And  children  heed  her  beckoning  hands. 
There,  for  the  weary  ones  that  roam, 
Twinkle  the  dreamy  lights  of  Home. 

The  corn  still  waves  and  vines  are  clinging ; 

The  larks  are  hid  in  bending  grain ; 
The  birds  sing,  as  my  heart  is  singing, 

Where,  lonely  in  the  woodland  rain, 
The  old  rail  fence — its  service  o'er — 
Curves  round  the  blossoming  fields  no  more, 

95 


THE    OLD    RAIL    FENCE 

Yet,  there  I  halt  my  horse,  and  sighing, 
Above  the  old  rail  fence  I  lean. 

The  snows  upon  life's  pathway  lying 
Have  left  one  living  glimpse  of  green  ! 

And  still,  through  change  of  time  and  art, 

The  old  rail  fence  runs  round  my  heart ! 


A  SONG  IN  JUNE 

DRY  upon  the  field  and  plain- 
Dry  on  copse  and  clover ; 
Not  a  single  drop  of  rain 
To  tilt  the  lily  over  ! 

Whistle  for  the  wind  in  vain : 
Not  a  blossom  quivers  ! 

Not  a  diamond  drop  of  rain 
To  dimple  drowsy  rivers. 

O  for  just  a  rumpling  breeze 
O'er  the  prospect  sunny! 

One — to  blow  the  golden  bees 
Flowerward,  to  the  honey! 

Just  a  whiff  to  stir  the  still 
Daisies  in  the  meadow, 

And  to  toss  o'er  vale  and  hill 
Clouds  of  rainy  shadow ! 

7  97 


A    SONG    IN    JUNE 

O  the  fainting  field  and  plain 
O  the  thirsting  clover! 

Not  a  single  drop  of  rain 
To  tilt  the  lily  over! 


98 


THE  REAPERS 

THE  long  day's  toil  was  over — 
A  bird  sang  in  a  tree ; 
The  sunshine  kissed  the  clover 
Good-by,  and — she  kissed  me ! 

Then  lovelier  seemed  the  sunshine, 
And  sweeter  sang  the  bird ; 

And  if  the  clover  listened 
My  throbbing  heart  it  heard. 

For  all  day  long,  a-reaping 

In  fields  of  silver  shine, 
I  felt  her  heart  a-creeping 

And  cuddling  close  to  mine. 

And  lighter  seemed  the  labor, 
And  winsomer  the  wheat 

That  spread  its  golden  tresses 
For  the  falling  of  her  feet. 

And  when  the  toil  was  over 

A  bird  sang  in  a  tree ; 
The  sunshine  kissed  the  clover 

Good-night,  and — she  kissed  me ! 

99 


WEARY  FOR  HER 

I'M  weary 
For  my  dearie 

From  the  mornin'  to  the  night ; 
I'm  missin' 
Of  her  kissin' 

An'  her  footsteps  fallin'  light — 
O  I'm  weary 
For  my  dearie 
From  the  mornin'  to  the  night ! 

I'm  weary 

For  my  dearie 
When  the  lark  flies  o'er  the  loam ; 

When  the  meadows 

Feel  the  shadows 
An*  the  cows  come  lowin'  home — 

O  I'm  weary 

For  my  dearie 

An'  she's  far  away  from  home! 
100 


WEARY    FOR    HER         >     ^  ^ 

I'm  weary 

For  my  dearie 
When  the  hearthstone  flickers  bright ; 

When  the  lily 

Dews  fall  chilly 
An'  the  hollows  hold  the  night — 

O  I'm  weary 

For  my  dearie 
An'  her  black  eyes  beamin'  bright ! 

So  weary 

For  you,  dearie — 
An'  you're  hidin'  from  my  sight — 

An'  the  blossom 

Seeks  your  bosom, 
An'  the  snow  falls  ghostly- white, 

Where  you're  sleepin' 

An'  I'm  weepin' 
From  the  mornin'  to  the  night ! 


101 


A  SONG  OF  THANKS 

H ANKFUL  for  strength  in  strife : 
1       For  faith  more  steadfast  than  the  stars 

above ; 

Thankful  that  life  is  life, 
And  love  is  love. 

Thankful  for  homes,  and  herds 

That  hide  the  hills ;  for  harvests  ultimate  ; 
For  the  sweet,  prattling  words 

Of  children  at  the  gate. 

For  Hope's  "Good-morning,"  and 

Faith's  sweet  "Good-night,"  when  we  are 
realmed  in  rest, 

Led  by  an  unseen  hand 
Safe  to  an  unseen  breast. 


102 


THE  SINGER  CROWNED 

THE  light  came  softly  streaming 
The  day  the  singer  died  ; 
They  whispered,  "He  is  dreaming;" 
He  lay  so  tranquil-eyed. 

No  vision  of  Death's  river 

Flashed  on  the  waiting  throng ; 

The  pale  lips  seemed  to  quiver 
Still  with  immortal  song. 

And  nations  came  and  crowned  him 
With  laurels  of  their  love ; 

The  deathless  glory  round  him 
Seemed  like  to  that  above. 

But  greater  than  all  glory 
Of  worlds,  or  worlds  to  be, 

Was  Love's  last,  sweetest  story 
In  Love's  simplicity. 
103 


THE    SINGER    CROWNED 

For  to  the  singer,  sleeping, 

Where  none  could  heed  or  mark, 

A  little  child  came  creeping, 
With  lilies  in  the  dark. 

And  'mid  the  laurels  gleaming, 
With  trembling  hands  and  fair, 

Laid  them  above  his  dreaming — 
Kissed  them,  and  left  them  there. 


104 


THE  SKY  FOR  YOU 

OTHE  future  sky  is  the  bluest  sky, 
With  never  a  cloud  in  view ; 
But  the  sky  today  is  the  truest  sky, 
And  that  is  the  sky  for  you ! 

For  the  work  you  have  to  do ; 
For  the  lives  that  lean  on  you ; 

Or  gold,  or  gray, 

'Tis  the  sky  today, 
And  that  is  the  sky  for  you ! 

There's  a  bird  that  sings  to  the  future  sky, 
Where  the  blossoms  drip  with  dew; 

But  the  bird  today  makes  the  song  of  May, 
And  that  is  the  song  for  you ! 

For  the  work  you  have  to  do ; 
For  the  hearts  that  cling  to  you, 

'Tis  the  sweetest  song 

As  it  thrills  along, 
And  that  is  the  song  for  you. 

I05 


GOING  HOME  TO  MARY 

BIRDS  seemed  singing  all  the  way 
Going  home  to  Mary ; 
Roses  on  a  winter's  day, 

Going  home  to  Mary. 
I  can  hear  my  heart  beat  time 
With  the  bells  that  sweetly  chime ; 
Happiest  man  that  lives  when  I'm 
Going  home  to  Mary ! 

Far  away  her  smile  I  see, 

Going  home  to  Mary ; 

How  it  lights  the  way  for  me, 
Going  home  to  Mary ! 

There,  in  groves  where  nests  the  dove, 

In  a  cot  with  blooms  above, 

Still  she  lights  the  lamp  o'  love — 
Going  home  to  Mary ! 
1 06 


GOING    HOME    TO    MARY 

Down  the  walk  come  pattering  feet, 
.Going  home  to  Mary! 

Children's  arms  and  kisses  sweet, 
Going  home  to  Mary ! 

Rob'  comes  climbing  to  my  knee, 

Katie  wants  a  kiss  from  me ; 
"Loves  me  all  the  world,"  says  she, — 
Home  with  love  and  Mary. 

Shine  the  lights  forever  more, 
Going  home  to  Mary ! 
Love  still  leads  me  to  the  door, 

Going  home  to  Mary ! 
For  her  sake  my  toil  is  sweet, 
For  her  sake  my  heart'll  beat 
Till  it's  dust  beneath  her  feet — 
Going  home  to  Mary ! 


107 


A  PROVIDENTIAL  CHRISTMAS 

WHEN  our  sweet  Mary  run  away 
(It's  fifteen  year  this  Christmas  Day) 
An'  married,  'peared  like  William,  he, 
Would  lose  his  mind  etarnally! 
Fer  he  wuz  sot  ag'in  it  so — 
Our  Mary  marry  in'  of  Joe, 
Dave  Spinks'  boy,  he  up  an'  said 
He'd  almos'  ruther  see  her  dead 
An'  buried!   Fer  that  Joe,  he  jest 
Outdone  the  patience  of  the  best. 
No  larnin' ;   head  as  hard  as  wood  ; 
An'  what  some  folks  would  call  "no  good." 
But  gals  is  strange  ;   an'  Mary,  she, 
Somehow,  could  allus  git  'roun'  me. 
When  I'd  say  "No!"  her  blue  eyes  jes' 
Looked  right  in  mine  an'  twinkled  "Yes!" 
So  when  the  corn  wuz  to  be  groun' — 
On  days  when  William  warn't  aroun' — 
108 


A    PROVIDENTIAL    CHRISTMAS 

Here'd  come  that  Joe  from  Spinks'  place, 
A-sparkin'  Mary  'fore  my  face! 

But  once  he  come  too  frequent ;   'peared 
To  like  the  risk:  said  he  warn't  'feared 
Of  William  ketchin'  him.     But — my ! 
Jest  in  the  twinklin'  of  a  eye 
We  heard  a  footstep  in  the  hall, 
An'  William  come  an' — ketched  us  all! 
I  rickollect  it  jest  as  well 
As  ef  'twuz  yesterday.   .   .   .   Hearn  tell 
Of  people  "mad  as  thunder"  ?  Shoo! 
William  wuz  thunder' n'  lightnin',  too! 
He  looked  at  me,  he  looked  at  Mary, 
An'  we — we  kinder  looked  contrary. 
An'  then  I  poked  the  fire  to  jest 
Give  my  scart  eyes  a  chance  to  rest ! 

Then  William  sorter  started  back — 
Wheeled  'roun'  an'  reached  up  to  the  rack 
An'  got  his  rifle !   raised  it — cocked 
The  trigger,  an'  the  door  thar — locked! 
109 


A    PROVIDENTIAL    CHRISTMAS 

Mary  an'  me  a-screamin' ;  Joe — 
None  of  us  ever  'peared  to  know 
Jest  how  he  did ;  but  in  a  flash 
Joe  went  out  by  the  wincler-sash, 
An'  took  it  with  him — shore  as  fate ! 
Likewise  ten  palin's  an*  the  gate! 
An'  with  all  that  encumberence 
Cl'ared  a  big  ditch  an'  ten-rail  fence! 

Not  much  was  said  when  Joe  wuz  gone 
The  night — it  went  a-wearin'  on, 
With  me  not  raisin'  of  my  head, 
An'  Mary  hidm'  out  in  bed. 
An'  fer  two  days — or  mebbe  three — 
William,  he  never  speaks  to  me; 
An'  when  he  did,  'twuz  jest  to  say, 
Ef  once  more  that  chap  crost  his  way 
He'd  cheat  the  gallus;   an'  went  on 
Jest  thataway.     But  Joe  wuz  gone 
Fer  good,  an'  like  a  man  of  sense, 
William  went  fixin'  up  his  fence 
An'  winder-sash. 

no 


A   PROVIDENTIAL    CHRISTMAS 

But  one  dark  night, 
When  William  wuz  a-sleepin'  right 
An'  dreamin'  pleasant  dreams,  I  hears 
A  noise  outside,  then,  creakin'  stairs; 
An'  I  wakes  William,  but — too  late! 
The  door  stood  open,  an'  the  gate 
Had  been  swung  to  'fore  he  got  down, 
An'  Joe  an'  Mary  gone  to  town ! 
I  knowed  they'd  fotched  us  all  to  taw, 
An'  William  wuz  Joe's  father-in-law! 

No  use  to  talk  'bout  William !     He 

Wuz  mad,  an'  had  a  right  to  be ; 

An'  so  wuz  I.     But  while  I  cried, 

William  was  at  the  station :   tried 

To  stop  'em  all  by  telegraph — 

Spent  'bout  two  dollars  an'  a  half — 

When  word  came  they  wuz  married,  shore  I 

"I'll  never  see  her  face  no  more!" 

Said  William. 

Fer  about  a  year 
He  went  on  like  he  didn't  care 
in 


A   PROVIDENTIAL    CHRISTMAS 

To  hear  a  word  of  her.     When  she 
Would  write  long  letters  home  to  me, 
An'  ask  ef  she  could  come ;   an   tell 
How  Joe  wuz  doin'  mighty  well — 
Had  bought  a  house  an'  lot  o'  Ian' 
On  this  here  new  instalment  plan, 
An'  wuz  a  different  kind  of  Joe 
From  the  old  one  we  use  to  know — 
He'd  take  no  int'rust — never  read 
A  letter;  not  one  word  he  said. 
But  one  thing  give  me  hope,  fer  he 
Would  allus  listen  patiently. 

But  when  two  year  had  passed  (believe 
It  happened  on  a  Christmas  Eve — 
Course,  I'd  seen  Mary  in  that  time, 
And  give  her  baby  many  a  dime!) 
We  sot  one  night — a  lonesome  pair — 
In  sight  o'  Mary's  vacant  chair. 
An*  oh !   so  lonesome  'peared  the  place, 
The  tears  come  tricklin'  down  my  face. 


112 


A    PROVIDENTIAL    CHRISTMAS 

Then  William,  he  reached  over  an' 
Smoothed  back  my  hair,  an'  took  my  han', 
An'  said:   "Ef  Mary'd  come  tonight, 
I  reckon  it  would  be  all  right : 
I'm  feelin'  lonesome,  too!" 

I'm  one 

That  b'lieves  in  Providence,  an'  none 
Kin  shake  my  faith.     He  hadn't  said 
Them  words  before  I  raised  my  head, 
Heard  feet  outside,  clost  by  the  door ; 
An'  then  a  voice  we'd  hearn  before! 
An'  then,  two  voices ;  then  a  knock — 
Not  loud.   .   .   .   The  key  turned  in  the  lock, 
The  door  wuz  opened  wide,  an'  oh! 
Thar  stood  our  Mary  an'  her  Joe, 
An'  that  sweet  baby  on  her  breast! 
Is't  any  use  to  tell  the  rest — 
How  Mary  said,  "Kin  we  come  in?" 
An'  William,  "You  jest  bet  you  kin!" 
How  the  child  crowed  and  'peared  to  be 
A-reachin'  fer  the  arms  o'  me  ! 

8  113 


A    PROVIDENTIAL    CHRISTMAS 

An'  William  sorter  squared  his  jaw, 
Then  laughed,  an'  called  Joe  son-in-law! 
An'  kissed  the  baby,  an'  jumped  'roun' 
Like  he'd  been  lost,  an'  jest  wuz  found  ! 

Been  many  a  merry  Christmas  sence, 
But  that  wuz  special  Providence  ! 


w 


A  RAINY  DAY 


'OMEN  likes  a  rainy  day — suits  'em  to  a  "t"  ; 

Men-folks  set  aroun'  an'  growl,  mis'bul  as  kin  be ; 
It's  women's  time  fer  rumagin'  in  chists  an'  trunks  an' 

things ; 
Fer  readin'  old  love  letters  an'  foolin'  with  old  rings. 


I  sometimes  watch  Maria  when  the  groun's  been  wet  a 

spell, 
An'  the  rain  is  fallin'  lonesome,  an'  nobody's  feelin' 

well ; 
How  she  bustles  roun*  as  busy  as  a  bumble-bee  an' 

takes 
The  pictur's  down  an*  dusts  'em  till  a  feller  has  the 

shakes ! 

"5 


A    RAINY    DAY 

An*  the  old  chist  inside  out'ards — quilts  an'  patches  on 

the  floor; 
An'  the  letters  what  I  writ  her, — spellin'  through  'em 

all  once  more ; 
An*    she   smiles  while   she's   a-readin',   an'   sometimes 

you'll  see  a  tear 
A-fallin'  on  the  paper  that  she's  kep'  fer  twenty  year! 

An'  then  I've  got  to  comfort  her,   an'  so  I  makes  a 

show, 

An'  tells  her  it's  the  rainy  day  what  hurts  her  feelin's  so ; 
An'  jest  one  ivord — it  starts  her  on  the  biggest  kind  of 

cry, 
Till  I  almos'  wish  thar'd  never  been  no  happy  days 

gone  by! 

That's   how   the   weather    does    'em  —  these   women! 

Never  saw 

A  fine,  sunshiny  day  but  they  was  layin'  down  the  law. 
But  rainy  days  is  women's  time  fer  lookin'  over  things, 
Fer  readin'  old  love  letters  and  foolin'  with  old  rings. 


TAKING  THE  BABY'S  PICTURE 

i 

MOLLY,  she  made  it  up  that  she — 
Seein'  the  baby  had  jest  turned  three 
Months — an'  maybe  a  day  or  two — 
An'  'twuz  'bout  decided  his  eyes  wuz  blue 
An'  all  o'  the  hair  that  he  had  wuz  red 
An'  startin'  to  blossom  roun'  his  head; 
Molly,  she  made  it  up  that  she 
Would  take  the  baby,  the  gals  an'  me, 
An'  have  the  little  one's  pictur'  took 
To  have  at  home  in  the  album  book. 

ii 

That  warn't  much  to  decide,  but  wait — 
Thar's  trouble  comin',  an'  lots  to  state! 
Fer,  though  the  baby  enjoyed  the  ride — 
Rocked  in  the  wagon,  from  side  to  side, 
An'  never  a  time  on  the  journey  cried, 

117 


TAKING    THE    BABY'S    PICTURE 

When  we  sot  him  down  in  the  pictur'  tent — 
Whar  they  made  tintypes  fer  the  settlement, 
'Twuz  a  change  surprisin'  he  underwent! 
Fer  when  he  seen  that  contraption  tall, 
What  takes  yer  face,  an'  yer  clothes  an'  all, 
P'inted  at  him,  he  give  a  squall 
(His  mother  holdin' — fer  fear  he'd  fall) 
An'  they  couldn't  git  him  that  time  at  all ! 

in 

Then  the  man — he  held  up  a  dollar  bright, 
An'  says:    "Look  here! — Now  we'll  git  him  right!" 
An'  the  baby  opened  his  mouth  so  wide 
It  'peared  like  the  dollar  would  drap  inside! 
But  the  man  kept  holdin'  it  fur  away — 
The  baby  laughin',  an'  in  fer  play; 
;'An'  now,"  he  hollered,  "we'll  git  him  shore!" 
An'  p'inted  that  thing  at  his  face  once  more. 
Lordy!   it  wuzn't  no  use  at  all! 
It  took  his  mother — the  gals,  an'  all 
To  hold  him  still  in  the  high  old  chair — 
Kickin'  an*  screamin' !  .  .  .  They  called  him  "Dear," 
118 


TAKING    THE    BABY'S    PICTURE 

An*  "Honey,"  an'  "Purty;"  but  'twarn't  no  use 
He  kept  on  yellin',  an'  jest  kicked  loose! 

IV 

How  many  times  that  feller  tried 

To  git  that  baby,  I  can't  decide! 

He  give  him  candy — a  rattle — more 

Things  than  they  keep  in  a  Christmas  store ! 

An'  lost  six  hours,  he  said ;   an'  then 

He  was  one  o'  the  maddest  o'  pictur'  men ! 

An'  he  says  to  the  mother:      "Ef  I  wuz  you 

I'd  strop  that  baby — that's  what  I'd  do! 

Fer  he's  'bout  the  worst  that  I  ever  seen — 

With  a  temper  p'intedly  bad  an'  mean! 

An'  now,"  says  he,  "you  have  got  to  pay 

Fer  all  o'  the  time  that  I  lost  today!" 

An'  went  on  talkin'  jest  thataway. 

.  •  .  .  .  •  • 

Well,  the  mother,  she  fell  to  cry  in',  an' 
Told  him  he  warn't  much  of  a  man 


119 


TAKING    THE    BABY'S    PICTURE 

To  talk  that  way  o'  the  sweetest  one 
An'  purtiest  baby  under  the  sun ! 
An'  she  wuz  sart'in  he  didn't  have  none! 
Then,  I  chipped  in — fer  she  kept  on  cryin' — 
An'  said:      "That  young'un,  old  boy,  is  mine!" 
An'  then  we  clinched !   ...   an'  we  fit  an'  fout 
Fer  half  a  hour,  or  nigh  about— 
Till  the  pictur'  man  wuz  knocked  clean  out! 

An'  the  baby's  pictur'  wuz  never  took 
To  keep  at  home  in  the  album  book ! 


120 


A  HAPPY  FELLOW 

HE  wuz  the  happiest  feller  alive : 
Don't  keer  how  trouble  would  try  him ; 
Lovin'  his  brothers 
An'  doin'  to  others 

Jest  like  he'd  have  'em  do  by  him. 

Summer  or  winter — he  still  wuz  content: 
Don't  keer  how  corn  wuz  a-sellin' — 

Wheat  tumblin'  over 

An'  "corners"  on  clover — 

Trouble  kep'  cl'ar  of  his  dwellin'  ! 

Sunshine  or  cyclones,  it  still  wuz  the  same- — 

Never  wuz  rattled  a  minute  ; 
Take  all  his  money, 
An'  skies  wuz  still  sunny ; 

"Providence — providence  in  it!" 
121 


A    HAPPY    FELLOW 

That  wuz  his  sayin',  no  matter  what  come, 
And  when,  with  the  love  of  a  brother, 

That  never  counts  loss, 

Wants  no  crown  fer  a  cross — 

He  laid  down  his  life  fer  another, — 

He  jest  sorter  smiled  'fore  his  spirit  took  flight 
To  heaven  (ain't  no  better  man  in  it !), 

Went  under  the  rod 

With  them  last  words:      "Thank  God  ! 
Providence — providence  in  it!" 


122 


THIS  WORLD 

THIS  world  that  we're  a-livin'  in 
Is  mighty  hard  to  beat ; 
You  git  a  thorn  with  every  rose, 
But  ain't  the  roses  sweet! 


123 


THE  CHRISTMAS  FIDDLE 

THAR'S  somethin'  in  a  fiddle's  sound  that  somehow 
shakes  an'  fills 
My  soul  with  sweeter  music  than  the  song  of  whippoor- 

wills, 
Or  the  wild  notes  of  the  mockin'  bird  when  spring  is  in 

her  prime, 

But  best  of  all  I  loves  'em  when  they're  play  in'  Christ 
mas  time ! 

When  the  cabin  fires  air  blazin'  an'  the  holly-berries  red 
With  temptin'  twigs  of  mistletoe  air  hangin'  overhead ; 
When  a  feller's  eyes  air  chasm'  of  the  dimples  of  the 

gyrls, 
An'  he's  lost  his  way  forever  in  the  tangle  of  their  curls. 

Then  I  likes  to  hear  the  fiddle,  for  it's  most  uncommon 

sweet ; 

Thar's  a  twinkle  in  my  eyes  then  an'  a  fidget  in  my  feet ; 

124 


THE    CHRISTMAS    FIDDLE 

When  the  gyrls  air  gittin'  ready  fer  the  dancin',  soon 

to  be, 
It's  halleluiah  season  to  the  very  soul  of  me! 

When  I  see  the  old-time  fiddler  who's  heard  the  fiddle 

sing 

Fer  many  a  frosty  winter — in  summer  time,  in  spring, 
Lay  by  his  coat  an'  strike  a  note,  it's  "Brethren,  bar  the 

door!" 
Fer  I  know  that  trouble's  comin'  on  that  cabin's  sandy 

floor! 

When  I  hear  that :   '  'Swing  your  partners ! " — they  know 

whar  /'//  be  foun' — 
My  arms  jest  full   of  sweetness  an'  the  room  a-goin' 

roun' ! 
An',  "Ladies  to  the  center!"  an'  "Han's  roun' !"  that'll 

do! 
Fer  a  gyrl's  han's  mighty  tender  when  she's  holdin' 

han's  with  you! 

The  heavy  hail  kin  patter  on  the  shingle  roof  on  high ; 
The  snow  kin  beat  the   snowbirds  from  their  cradles 
clost  the  sky, 


THE    CHRISTMAS    FIDDLE 

The  cows  kin  miss  the  clover  on  the  hillside  fur  an'  free, 
But  in  joy  I'm  rollin'  over  when  the  riddle  sings  to  me! 

But  it's  allus  sweeter,  sweeter  when  the  holly's  hangin' 

high 
An'  the  Christmas  lamps  air  lighted  in  the  winders  of 

the  sky; 

An'  I  think  ef  I  wuz  dyin'  I  would  still  be  feelin'  prime 
As  the  liveliest  angel  flyin',   with  a  fiddle  Christmas 

time! 


136 


TEN  ACRES  FOR  HIM 

erbout  this  here  country  "goin'  to    ruin" — 
1        why, 
You  might  as  well  say  that  the  Lord's  away  from  the 

bend  o'  the  big  blue  sky ! 
It's  still  the  same  ole  country — the  biggest  one  an'  the 

best; 

An'  I'm  willin'  to  take  ten  acres  an'  trust  the  Lord  fer 
the  rest! 

Never  no  reason  in  it — "goin'  to  ruin!"   see! — 

The  sun  climbs  up  from  the  hills  an'  says  "Good  morn- 

in'  "  to  you  an'  me, 
An'  a  sweet  "good  night"  when  he's  goin'  to  the  west 

whar  the  shadders  stay, 
An'  somethin'  that  sorter  whispers:     "I'll  see  you  at 

break  o'  day!" 

127 


TEN    ACRES    FOR    HIM 

Never  no  reason  in  it!     I'm  \villin'  to  take  my  chance ; 
You'd  better  git  out  the  supper  things — the  gals  air 

comin'  to  dance. 
Talk  'bout  "goin'  to  ruin" — we're  happy  from  east  to 

west, 
An'  I'm  willin'  to  take  ten  acres  an'  trust  the  Lord  fer 

the  rest ! 


128 


THE  LITTLE  ONE 

I  AIN'T  af eared  on  Death  to  look — on  the  Ian',  or  the 
fur-off  sea ; 
Fer  Death  once  come  to  my  home  an'  took  a  little  one 

off  from  me ; 
An'  thar  wuzn't  a  smile  for  a  lonesome  while  in  the 

home  whar  she  use  to  be, — 

I  ain't  afeared  o'  Death  sence  he  took  a  little  one  off 
from  me! 

She  wuzn't  afeared!   .   .   .  fer  day  by  day — still,  on  the 

mother's  breast, 
Uncomplainin'  she  went  away, — we  whisperin' :    "God 

knows  best!" 
Never  a  word  from  her  lips  wuz  heard  as  the  days  an' 

the  nights  went  on — 
Only  the  arms  roim'  the  mother  after  the  soul  wuz  gone ! 

I  reckon  it's  right,  but  somehow  I'm  allus  wantin'  to 

know 
Jest  why  the  good  Lord  took  her  from  the  ones  that 

loved  her  so  ? 
9  129 


THE    LITTLE    ONE 

Minister  says:     "  'Twuz  to  bring  us  all  close  in  the 

Master's  keep;" 
But  for  her  I'd  take  my  chances  out  with  the  poor,  lost 

sheep ! 

Ef  I  only  knowed  she  wuz  livin'— - thar,  whar  she  use 

to  be — 
Ef  only  she  had  the  daylight,  an*  the  darkness  come  on 

me! 
Ef  only,  when  the  shadders  come  up  from  the  cloudin' 

west, 
I  could  hear  the  mother  callin'  her  home,  an*  rockin' 

her  still  to  rest ! 

But  she's  gone  the  way  that  we  all  must  go,  an'  the 

mother  an'  me  must  moan ; 
She  wuz  sich  a  leetle  bit  of  a  thing  to  go  in  the  dark 

alone  ! 

But  sweet,  an'  uncomplainin'  she  lived  her  happy  day 
An'  I  ain't  afeared  on  Death  to  look  sence  the  little  one 

went  that  way ! 


130 


A  KNOW-NOTHING  FELLOW 

THE  harvest  winds  air  sweeping  over  valleys  cool 
an'  deep ; 
The  fields  air  ripe  fer  reapin',  but — I  dunno  how  to 

reap! 

The  hay  is  stacked  an'  ready — the  teamsters  look  alive  ; 
The  mules  air  pullin'  steady,  but — I  dunno  how  to  drive ! 
Jest  stand  idle 

By  the  fiel'  an'  hill ; 
Dunno  nothin', 
An'  I  never  will ! 

Fiddle's  jest  a-goin',  an'  they  tell  me  it's  my  chance ; 
Gals  air  mighty  purty,  but — I  dunno  how  to  dance! 
Comin'  to  the  doorway — axin'  of  me  in, 
Wantin'  me  to  marry,  but — I  dunno  how  I  kin! 
Jest  stand  idle 

By  the  fiel'  an'  hill; 
Dunno  nothin', 
An'  I  never  will! 


A    KNOW-NOTHING     FELLOW 

Folks — they  take  an'  tell  me  that  they  never  seen  the 

like! 

Never  ever  in  the  way  when  lightnin's  goin'  to  strike ; 
Say  the  time  is  flyin'  while  I'm  a-standin'  by ; 
Do  much  better  dyin' ,  but — I  dunno  how  to  die! 
Jest  keep  loafiV 

By  the  fiel'  an'  hill ; 
Dunno  nothin', 
An'  I  never  will ! 


HOW  I  SPOKE  THE  WORD 

THE  snow  come  down  in  sheets  of  white 
An'  made  the  pine  trees  shiver ; 
'Feared  like  the  world  had  said  good-night 
An'  crawled  beneath  the  kiver. 

The  river's  shiny  trail  wuz  gone — 
The  winds  sung  out  a  warnin' ; 

The  mountains  put  their  nightcaps  on 
An'  said :      ' '  Good-by  till  mornin' ! ' ' 

'Twuz  jest  the  night  in  fieP  an'  wood 

When  cabin  homes  look  cozy, 
An'  fine  oak  fires  feel  mighty  good, 

An'  women's  cheeks  look  rosy. 

An'  that  remin's  me.     We  wuz  four, 

A-settin'  by  the  fire ; 
But  still  it  'peared  ten  mile  or  more 

Betwixt  me  an'  Maria ! 

'33 


HOW    I    SPOKE    THE    WORD 

The  old  man — he  wuz  readin',  at 

The  middle,  nigh  the  mother; 
An'  from  two  corners,  'crost  the  cat, 

We  jest  looked  at  each  other. 

An'  though  Maria  said  no  word, 

Each  bright  eye,  like  a  rover, 
Kep'  talkin',  till  I  sorter  heard: 

"Speak,  John,  an'  have  it  over!" 

An'  then  I  speaks  !     I  give  a  cough, 

(The  way  we  all  begin  it ! ) 
Then  reeled  the  English  langwidge  off 

At  'bout  a  mile  a  minute! 

"I've  got  some  feelin's  to  express," 

I  said,  "about  Maria!" 
(The  old  man  eyed  me,  then  said:      "Yes; 
She's  most  too  nigh  the  fire!") 

"I  don't  mean  fire,"  I  floundered  on 
(He  shet  the  dog-eared  pages), 

"I  thought  I'd  ax — "     He  stopped  me:  "John, 
You  want  a  raise  in  wages?" 
134 


HOW   I    SPOKE   THE    WORD 

"No,  sir!"     (I  caught  that  eye  of  his, 

An'  then  I  fit  an'  floundered ! ) 
"The  thing  I  want  to  tell  you  is — " 

Says  he :     "The  old  mare's  foundered?" 

"No,  sir!   it  ain't  about  no  hoss!" 

(My  throat  begin  to  rattle ! ) 
"I  see,"  he  said,  "another  loss 

In  them  fine  Jersey  cattle!" 

An'  then  I  lost  my  patience !     Then 

I  hollered  high  and  higher 
(You  could  'a  heard  me  down  the  glen) : 

*  *  No,  sir  I     I  want  Maria  /* ' 

"An'  now,"  says  I,  "the  shaft'll  strike: 

He'll  let  that  statement  stay  so  ! " 
He  looked  at  me  astonished-like, 

Then  yelled :     "  Why  didn't  you  say  so?" 


'35 


THE  FAMOUS  MULLIGAN  BALL 

DID  ever  you  hear  of  the  Mulligan  ball — the  Mulli 
gan  ball  so  fine, 
Where  we  formed  in  ranks,  and  danced  on  planks,  and 

swung  'em  along  the  line  ? 
Where  the  first  Four  Hundred  of  the  town  moved  at 

the  music's  call? 

There  was  never  a  ball  in  the  world  at  all — like  the 
famous  Mulligan  ball  ! 

Town  was  a  bit  of  a  village  then  and  never  a  house  or 

shed 
From  street  to  street  and  beat  to  beat  was  higher  than 

Mulligan's  head  ! 
And   never  a  theater  troup   came  round  to   'liven  us 

spring  or  fall, 
And  so  Mulligan's  wife  she  says,  says  she:     "Plaze 

God,  I'll  give  a  ball!" 
136 


THE    FAMOUS    MULLIGAN    BALL 

And  she  did — God  rest  her,  and  save  her,  too  !    (I'm 

liftin'  to  her  my  hat !) 

And  never  a  ball  at  all,  at  all,  was  half  as  fine  as  that  ! 
Never  no  invitations  sent — nothin'  like  that  at  all ; 
But  the  whole  Four  Hundred   combed  their  hair  and 

went  to  the  Mulligan  ball. 

And  "Take  yer  places  !"  says  Mulligan,   "an'  dance 

till  you  shake  the  wall  !" 
And  I  led  Mrs.  Mulligan  off  as  the  lady  that  gave  the 

ball; 
And  we  whirled  around  till  we  shook  the  ground,  with 

never  a  stop  at  all ; 
And  I  kicked  the  heels  from  my  boots — please  God — 

at  the  famous  Mulligan  ball. 

Mulligan  jumped  till  he  hit  the  roof,  and  the  head  of 

him  went  clean  through  it ! 
The  shingles  fell  on  the  floor  pell-mell  !  Says  Mulligan : 

"Faith,  I  knew  it!" 


137 


THE  FAMOUS  MULLIGAN  BALL 

But  we  kept  right  on  when  the  roof  was  gone,  with 

never  a  break  at  all ; 
We  danced  away  till  the  break  o'  day  at  the  famous 

Mulligan  ball. 

But  the  best  of  things  must  pass  away  like  the  flowers 
that  fade  and  fall, 

And  it's  fifty  years,  as  the  records  say,  since  we  danced 
at  Mulligan's  ball; 

And  the  new  Four  Hundred  never  dance  like  the  Mulli 
gans  danced — at  all, 

And  I'm  longing  still,  though  my  hair  is  gray,  for  a  ball 
like  Mulligan's  ball! 

And  I  drift  in  dreams  to  the  old-time  town,  and  I  hear 

the  fiddle  sing; 
And  Mulligan  sashays  up  and  down  till  the  rafters  rock 

and  ring! 
Suppose,  if  I  had  a  woman's  eyes,  maybe  a  tear  would 

fall 
For  the  old-time   fellows  who  took  the  prize  at  the 

famous  Mulligan  ball ! 


SWEET  LITTLE  WOMAN  OF  MINE 

SHE  ain't  any  bit  of  a  angel — 
This  sweet  little  woman  o'  mine; 
She's  jest  a  plain  woman, 
An'  purty  much  human — 

This  sweet  little  woman  o'  mine. 

Fer  what  would  I  do  with  a  angel 

When  I  looked  for  the  firelight's  shine? 

When  six  little  sinners 

Air  wantin'  their  dinners? 

No  !     Give  me  this  woman  o'  mine ! 

I've  hearn  lots  o'  women  called  "angels," 
An'  lots  o'  'em  thought  it  wuz  fine ; 

But  give  'em  the  feathers, 

An'  me,  in  all  weathers, 

This  sweet  little  woman  o'  mine. 

I  jest  ain't  got  nuthin'  agin  'em — 

These  angels — they're  good  in  their  line, 

But  they're  sorter  above  me  ! 

Thank  God  that  she'll  love  me — 
This  dear  little  woman  o'  mine. 

139 


ACCORDING  TO  JOHN 

MY  John — he  ain't  rollin'  in  riches, 
But  he's  mine  when  his  money  is  gone ; 
An'  I  tell  him  my  sweetest  religion 
Is  the  gospel  accordin'  to  John. 

His  han's  they  air  hard  with  the  toilin', 
He's  up  with  the  lark  o'  the  dawn; 

But  I  cheer  him  along  with  my  singin' — 
The  songs  o'  the  gospel  o'  John  ! 

An'  still  in  the  joy  an'  the  sorrow 
While  the  sunset  o'  life's  comin'  on, 

My  dearest  an'  sweetest  religion 
Is  the  gospel  accordin'  to  John  ! 


140 


WHY  THE  WEDDING  WAITS 

1  SORTER  thought  I'd  speak  my  mind  next  time  I 
went  to  see 

Elviry,  but — they'll  never  make  a  orator  of  me  ! 
Fer  ever'  time  I  struck  a  word  I'd  sorter  choke   an' 

cough, 

An'   that's  why  I  can't  tell   you  when  the  weddin's 
comin'  off! 

I  looked  at  her  a-settin'  by  the  fire  blazin'  bright — 
Her  cheeks  like  two  red  roses  an*  her  eyes  like  lakes  o' 

light, 
An'  I  think  I  said  'twuz  snowin* — kinder  keerless  like 

an'  free, — 
An'  that's  why  I  can't  tell  you  when  the  weddin'  is  to 

be! 


WHY     THE    WEDDING    WAITS 

The  quiet — it  got  painful ;    you  could  hear  a  feather 

fall; 

We  wuz  'bout  as  interestin'  as  the  shadders  on  the  wall ; 
But  last  I  said:      "Elviry  !"   an'  she  turned  an'  looked 

at  me, 
An'  that's  why  I  can't  tell  you  when  the  weddin'  is  to 

be! 

I'm  good  at  campaign  speeches,  an'    I  allus  win  my 

race; 
Kin   speak    my  mind    in   meetin'    an'    sing    "Amazin' 

Grace  !" 

But  when  Elviry's  by  my  side  I  lose  my  pedigree, 
An'  that's  why  I  can't  tell  you  when  the  weddin'  is  to 

be! 

If  women  didn't  look  so  sweet,  an'  didn't  keep  so  still, 
P'r'aps  'twould  come  as  easy  as  rollin'  down  a  hill; 
But  when  I  say:     "Elviry!"   she's  shore  to  look  at  me, 
An'  that's  why  I  can't  tell  you  when  the  weddin'  is  to 
be! 


143 


THIRTY  YEARS  AFTER 

BEEN  thirty  year  sence  the  fightin'  —  though  it  don't 
seem  long  as  that 
Sence  I  follered  "Stonewall"  Jackson,  with  nary  shoe 

or  hat, 
Through  the  valleys  o'  Virginny  an'  ev'rywhar'  else  he 

went  — 

Thirty  year   sence  I  got  back    home  to  the  burnt-out 
settlement. 

But  the  world,  it's  been  a-movin',  fer  I  am  a-gittin' 


An'  still,  somehow,  when  I  look  around  I  feel  it  slippin' 

away; 
The  roses  come  in  the  spring-time  —  the  frost  is  shore 

in  the  fall, 
But  still  it  seems  to  a  old  man's  dreams  like  thar  warn't 

no  war  at  all. 

*43 


THIRTY    YEARS    AFTER 

A  change  is  come  to  the  country ;  the  fields  whar  I  use 

to  plow 
Is  paved  with  stone,  an'  the  steeples  is  risin'  above  'em 

now; 
The  woods  whar  I  went  a-huntin'  is  roarin'  with  noisy 

crowds, 
An'  the  lakes  whar  I  done  my  fishin'  is  gone  clean  up 

in  the  clouds. 

Oh,  the  country,  it's  a-movin',  an*  'pears  to  be  movin' 

right; 
Thar's  a  brighter    sun  in  the   daytime,   an*  lots  more 

stars  by  night ; 
The  people's  a-comin'  closer,  an'  larnin*  the  Golden 

Rule- 
Lots  oj  the  women  votin'  an*  the  niggers  goin'  to  school. 

Whenever  I  git  to  thinkin' — as  I  do  think — o'  the  war, 
A-tryin'  constant  to  figger  out  the  things  we  was  fightin' 

far, 

I  kinder  decide  it  was  Providence  a-workin'  its  wisest 

ends — 
Purify  in*  through  fire  an'  makin'  us  better  friends. 

144 


THIRTY    YEARS    AFTER 

I  think  we're    a-doin'   better    than  we  done   'fore  the 

trouble  come ; 
Got  use'  to  the  stars  an'   stripes  once  more  an'  done 

beat  sense  in  the  drum  ! 
I've  danced  to  "Yankee  Doodle"  on  the  mountain  an' 

the  plain, 
An'  I've  heerd  'em  cheerin'  "Dixie"  from  Texas  clean 

to  Maine  ! 

Old  things  is  changed  in  a  tvvinklin' — it's  hard  to  on- 

ravel  how, 
But,    north    an'     south,    under    one    old     flag   they're 

"Marchin'  through  Georgy"  now; 
An'  I'm  glad  I  lived  to  see   it,  an'  spite  o'  my  years 

I'm  bound 
Ef  I  don't  jest  feel,  from  head  to  heel,  like  shakin'  hands 

all  round ! 


10  145 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  COUNTRY 

SHE'S  up  there — Old  Glory — she's  waving  o'erhead  ; 
She  dazzles  the  nations  with  ripples  of  red, 
And  she'll  wave  for  us  living,  or  droop  o'er  us  dead — 
She's  the  flag  of  our  country  forever  ! 

She's  up  there — Old  Glory — no  tyrant-dealt  scars, 
No  blur  on  her  brightness — no  stain  on  her  stars ; 
The  brave  blood  of  heroes  hath  crimsoned  her  bars — 
She's  the  flag  of  our  country  forever! 


146 


THE  FIGHT 

OTHE  glory  and  the  story  of  the  fight, 
The  dashing  of  the  war  steeds  in  the  strife- 
The  charge,  and  the  retreat, 
And  the  flag  the  winding  sheet 

Of  faces  staring  starward  from  the  strife — 

Lost  to  life. 

And  the  wailing  of  the  mother  and  the  wife  ! 

O  the  glory  and  the  story  of  the  fight ! 

The  leaving  for  the  battleground  of  Fate — 
With  glory  for  the  goal, 
Where  the  cannon  thunders  roll, 

And  kisses  for  the  \voman  at  the  gate, 

Who  shall  wait 

For  the  unreturning  footsteps,  long  and  late  !  - 


147 


THE  WARSHIP  DIXIE 

THEY'VE   named   a  cruiser  "Dixie" — that's  what 
the  papers  say — 
An'  I  hears  they're  goin'  to  man  her  with  the  boys  that 

wore  the  gray ; 
Good  news  !     It  sorter  thrills  me  and  makes  me  want 

to  be 

Whar  the  band  is  playin'  "Dixie"  an'  the  "Dixie"  puts 
to  sea. 

They've  named  a  cruiser  "Dixie,"  an',  fellers,  I'll  be 

boun' 
You're  goin'   to  see  some  fightin'  when  the  "Dixie" 

swings  eroun' ! 

Ef  any  o'  them  Spanish  ships'll  strike  her  east  or  west, 
Jest  let  the  ban'  play  "Dixie"   an'  the  boys'll  do  the 

rest! 

148 


THE    WARSHIP    DIXIE 

I  want  to  see  that  "Dixie" — I  want  to  take  my  stan' 
On  the  deck  of  her,  an*  holler:   "Three  cheers  for  Dixie 

Ian'  !" 

She  means  we're  all  united — the  war  hurts  healed  away, 
An'  "Way  Down  South  in  Dixie"  is  national  to-day  ! 

I  bet  she's  a  good  'un  !  I'll  stake  my  last  red  cent 
Thar  ain't  no  better  timber  in  the  whole  blamed  settle 
ment  ! 

An'  all  their  shiny  battleships  beside  that  ship  are  tame, 
Fer,  when  it  comes  to  "Dixie,"  thar's  somethin'  in  a 
name! 

Here's  three  cheers  an'  a  tiger — as  hearty  as  kin  be, 
An'  let  the  ban'  play  "Dixie"  when  the  "Dixie"  puts 

to  sea  ! 
She'll  make  her  way  an'  win  the  day  from  shinin'  east 

to  west — 
Jest  let  the  ban'  play  "Dixie"  an'  the  boys'll  do  the 

rest! 


149 


THE  BILLVILLE  DEBATE 

BRETHERIN  had  a  meetin' — jest  as  lively  as  could 
be; 

Subject  for  discussion:    "Is  Salvation  Really  Free?" 
Fer  the  rival  meetin'  houses  talked  it  out  from  dark  to 

dawn, 

That  they'd  save  the  Presbyterians,  but — the  Methodists 
wuz  gone ! 

The   Baptists   said  'twuz  sartin  as  the  mornin'  follered 

night 
That  they  had  the  road  to  glory  an'  wuz  runnin'  of  it 

right ; 
An'  the  proud  Episcopalians  said  the  thing  wuz  plain 

as  day 
That  they'd  have  to  take  the  gospel  the  Episcopalian 

way! 


THE    BILLVILLE    DEBATE 

The  Methodists  was  'mong  'em  an'   holdin'   to  their 

place, 

An'  stickin'  to  their  privilege  of  fallin'  'way  from  grace  ; 
An'  so,  they  met  together,  jest  as  earnest  as  could  be, 
To  settle  that  big  question:  "Is  Salvation  Really  Free?" 

They  talked  from  dark  to  day-time — they  shouted  out 

their  views ; 
They  made  the  pulpit  trimble — ripped  the  railin'  off  the 

pews; 
But  they  come  to  no  decision  till  a  preacher  says,  says 

he: 
"It's  sartin,  in  this  neighborhood,  salvation's  really  free ! 

"An*  I'll  prove  it!   Come  up,  brethren,  till  you're  all 

in  hearin'  reach : 
Jest  tell  me  whar's  that  salary  you  promised  me  to 

preach  ? 
You've  been  feedin'  on  the  gospel  till  the  souls  of  you 

are  fat, 
An'    the  preacher's    coat   is   threadbare  an'   the  wind 

howls  through  his  hat! 


THE    BILLVILLE    DEBATE 

"You  listen  to  the  sarmont,  but  the  whole  contented 
crowd, 

When  we  takes  up  a  collection,  are  a-snorin'  long  and 
loud! 

Can't  hear  the  hymn  we're  singin' — the  basket  never  see, 

An'  it's  my  onbiased  jedgment  that  you've  got  salva 
tion  free!" 

The  Presbyterian  preacher  said  he'd  sign  his  name  to 

that ; 
The  Baptists  said  'twuz   sartin  that  the  brother  had  it 

pat! 
The   Episcopalians   j'ined  him  thar:    'Twuz  plain    as 

plain  could  be 
The  people  in  that  neighborhood  had  got  salvation  free ! 

One  man  laid  down  a  dollar ;   another  one  give  five ; 

Then  tens  an'  twenties  fluttered  till  the  meetin'  looked 
alive ! 

An'  the  last  seen  of  the  preachers — they  wuz  jottin' 
down  their  notes 

An'  havin'  of  their  measures  took  fer  bran  new  broad 
cloth  coats! 


THE  VETERANS 

WE  met  at  Chickamauga.     I  hadn't  seen  him  since 
We  looked  across  the  trenches  and  his  bullet 
made  me  wince ; 
But  we  both   shook  hands  in  friendship,  as  hearty  as 

could  be, 

Though    he   had   marched   with    Sherman    and   I  had 
marched  with  Lee. 

We  walked  across  the  battlefield  where  once  the  bullets 
flew, 

And  the  green  and  bending  grasses  felt  the  fall  of  crim 
son  dew, 

And  we  talked  the  whole  thing  over  where  the  flag  was 
waving  free 

How  he  had  marched  with  Sherman  and  I  had  served 
with  Lee. 

'53 


THE    VETERANS 

The  drums  had  ceased  their  beating.    We  saw  no  sabers 

shine, 

The  hair  about  his  forehead  fell  as  snowy  white  as  mine, 
And  voices  seemed  to  call  us  o'er  the  far,  eternal  sea, 
Where  the    men  who   marched    with  Sherman  are  in 

camp  with  those  of  Lee. 

We  parted ;  eyes  grew  misty,  for  we  knew  that  never 
more, 

Would  we  meet  until  the  roll-call  on  the  other  peaceful 
shore, 

But  both  shook  hands  in  friendship  as  hearty  as  could  be, 

Though  he  had  marched  with  Sherman  and  I  had  fought 
with  Lee. 


154 


A  SOUTHERN  VOLUNTEER 

YES,  sir,  I  fought  with  Stonewall, 
And  faced  the  fight  with  Lee ; 
But  if  this  here  Union  goes  to  war, 

Make  one  more  gun  for  me  ! 
I  didn't  shrink  from  Sherman 
As  he  galloped  to  the  sea ; 
But  if  this  here  Union  goes  to  war, 
Make  one  more  gun  for  me ! 

I  was  with  'em  at  Manassas — 

The  bully  boys  in  gray ; 
I  heard  the  thunders  roarin' 

Round  Stonewall  Jackson's  way; 
And  many  a  time  this  sword  of  mine 

Has  blazed  the  route  for  Lee, 
But  if  this  old  Union  goes  to  war, 

Make  one  more  gun  for  me  ! 

155 


A    SOUTHERN    VOLUNTEER 

I'm  not  so  full  o'  fightin* 

Nor  half  so  full  o'  fun 
As  I  was  back  in  the  sixties 

When  I  shouldered  my  old  gun. 
It  may  be  that  my  hair  is  white 

(Such  things,  you  know,  must  be), 
But  if  this  old  Union's  in  for  fight, 

Make  one  more  gun  for  me ! 

I  hain't  forgot  my  raisin', 

Nor  how,  in  sixty-two 
Or  thereabouts,  with  battle  shouts, 

I  charged  the  boys  in  blue ; 
And  I  say,  I  fought  with  Stonewall 

And  blazed  the  way  with  Lee, 
But  if  this  old  Union's  in  for  war, 

Make  one  more  gun  for  me ! 


•56 


OLD  "BOB  WHITE" 

WHEN  peas  is  ripe  you  hear  the  call : 
"Bob  White !" 
In  music  sweet  the  clear  notes  fall : 

"Bob  White!" 

(He  wants  to  let  his  sweetheart  know — 
That's  why  he  keeps  a-callin'  so.) 

Acrost  the  medder  an*  the  swamp : 

"Bob  White  !" 
From  woodlands  where  the  rabbits  romp: 

"Bob  White!" 

Still,  still  he  calls  that  name  o'  his 
(I  wonder  where  his  sweetheart  is?) 

From  dewy  mornin'  up  to  night: 

"Bob  White!" 
An'  ringin'  down  the  sweet  twilight: 

"Bob  White!" 

From  break  o'  day  to  evenin'  dim, 
He  calls  his  sweetheart  home  to  him  1 
'57 


PR  A  YIN'  FOR  RAIN 

NEVER  seen  weather  so  powerful  dry — 
Burnt  up  the  hill  an'  the  plain ; 
An*  I  says  to  the  deacon:    "We'll  perish,''  says  I; 

"We'd  better  be  prayin'  for  rain." 
An'   "You're  right,"  says  the  deacon,  an'  so  we  got 

down 
An'  soon  had  'em  prayin'  all  over  the  town! 

They  prayed  before  breakfas',  petitioned  at  noon: 
"Good  Lord,  sen'  the  rain,  sen'  the  rain! 

We  hain't  had  a  drap  sence  the  middle  o'  June — 
The  dry  drought  has  ruint  the  grain. 

The  hills  are  on  fire,  an'  the  heat  up  on  high 

Is  makin'  big  cracks  in  the  blue  o'  the  sky!" 

They  prayed  in  the  mornin'  and  hollered  all  night, 

Till  at  last  come  the  ghost  of  a  cloud — 
A  rollin'  o'  thunder — a  flashin'  o'  light, 

An'  the  big  rain  all  over  the  crowd ! 
It  swelled  up  the  rivers,  it  deluged  the  town — 
An*  still  the  mad  angels  kep'  flingin'  it  dewn ! 

'58 


PRAYIN'  FOR  RAIN 

Never  seen  weather  so  powerful  wet ! 

Ruint  the  corn  an'  the  rye ; 
An'  I  says  to  the  deacon:   "We're  sufferm'  yet, 

We'd  better  be  pray  in'  fer  dry  !" 
An'  "You're  right,"  says  the  deacon;   an'  so  we  got 

down, 
An'  soon  had  'em  prayin'  all  over  the  town! 


THE  RATTLESNAKE'S  SONG 

I  PAUSE  to  sew  a  button  on 
In  some  dim  swamp  or  dell, 
And  when  it's  time  for  breakfast 

I  ring  my  rattle-bell. 
My  glance  is  keen  and  killing — 

It  charms  them  north  and  south ; 
The  birds  o'  May — they  lose  their  way 
And  hop  into  my  mouth  ! 
Zip!  Zoon! 
That's  the  tune 
That  charms  'em  in  the  woods  o'  June  ! 

The  hounds  that  bay  the  woodlands 
Where  wild  the  hunters  tread, 

Beware  my  den,  in  swamp  or  glen, 
Or  'neath  my  fangs  fall  dead  ! 
1 60 


THE  RATTLP;SNAKE'S  SONG 

For,  zip  !  I  am  upon  them, 

Even  while  my  rattle  rings ; 
Swift  as  a  flash  where  thunders  crash, 
Or  as  the  panther  springs. 
Zip !  Zoon ! 
That's  the  tune 
That  charms  'em  in  the  woods  o'  June ! 

Yet  wary  am  I  of  the  world : 

I  lowly  make  my  bed, 
And  there  I  hide  me,  coiled  and  curled- 

A  price  upon  my  head ; 
And  who  shall  slay  me  praise  shall  win : 

But  who  shall  dare  to  tread 
Where  low  I  lie,  with  watchful  eye, 

Nor  'neath  my  fangs  fall  dead? 
Zip !   Zoon ! 
That's  the  tune 
That  charms  'em  in  the  woods  o'  June ! 


ii  161 


1  'LITTLE  TIN  HO'N" 

JHT^WUZ  a  year  ago,  on  a  Chris'mus  mo'n, 

1       Dat  we  hearn  him  blow  en  blow ; 
En'  his  mammy  call  him,  "Little  Tin  Ho'n"- 

Chrismus,  a  year  ago. 
His  mammy — she  name  him  so, 
Fer  de  music  what  he  blow ; 

He  wuz  all  she  had, 

En  hit  des  too  bad 
Dat  he  out  dar,  under  cle  snow ! 

We  des  sot  by  on  dat  Chris'mus  mo'n 

Fer  ter  heah  him  blow  en  blow; 
En  I  never  knowed  dat  a  little  tin  ho'n 

Could  stir  up  de  feelin's  so! 
But  somehow,  I  'peared  ter  know 
Dat  him  en  de  ho'n  would  go.      .      .     . 

He  wuz  all  we  had, 

En  hit  des  too  bad 
Dat  he  out  dar,  under  de  snow ! 
162 


"LITTLE  TIN  HO'N" 

En  de  Chris'mus  come  w'en  de  Christ  wuz  bo'n, 

En  de  Chris'mus  bugles  blow; 
But  dey's  nuttin'  sweet  ez  de  little  Tin  Ho'n 

Dat  lef  us  a  year  ago. 
Nuttin'  so  sweet,  I  know, 
Ez  de  music  what  he  blow ; 

He  wuz  all  we  had, 

En  hit  des  too  bad 
Dat  he  out  dar,  under  de  snow  ! 


A  LULLABY 

SICH  a  liT  feller,  en  he  settin'  up  so  wise! 
Say  he  like  his  daddy,  but  he  got  his  mammy's 

eyes; 

Angel  tuck  en  drap  him  fum  a  winder  in  de  skies — 
By-bye,  honey,  twell  de  mawnin'. 

Sich  a  li'P  feller,  in  de  cunnin'es'  er  cloze! 
Say  he  love  his  daddy,  but  his  mammy's  what  he  knows ! 
Foun'  him  in  de  springtime,  en  dey  tuck  him  fer  a  rose — 
By-bye,  honey,  twell  de  mawnin'. 

Sich  a  li'P  feller,  en  he  talkin'  like  a  man! 
By-bye,  by-bye,  kiss  yo'  li'P  han' ; 
Lots  er  li'P  chillun  in  de  sleepy  Ian' — 

By-bye,  honey,  twell  de  mawnin'. 


164 


MISS  NANCY 

OH,  I  wonder  whar  Miss  Nancy  gone, 
Fer  de  latch  is  on  de  do' , 
En  de  sunflower  say: 
"She  gone  dis  way," 

En  de  sun  don't  shine  no  mo'. 

Oh,  I  wonder  whar  Miss  Nancy  gone, 
Fer  de  place  look  mighty  still ; 

En  de  win',  he  say: 

"Ef  she  gone  my  way 

I'll  find  her,  dat  I  will." 

Oh,  I  wonder  whar  Miss  Nancy  gone, 

While  de  shadders  creep  an'  creep, 

En  de  w'ipperwill 

Fum  crost  de  hill 

Say:    "I'm  singin'  her  ter  sleep!" 

Oh,  I  wonder  whar  Miss  Nancy  gone, 
Fer  de  sun  gone  vis'tin',  too ; 

But  de  moonlight  say: 

"Ef  she  cross  my  way, 

"I'll  light  her  home  to  you!" 
165 


THE  THRUSH  SONG 

BROWN  t'rush  singin'  in  de  woods  fur  off; 
"Tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle-tink!" 
Devvdrap  fallin'  on  de  roseleaf  sof  ; 
"Tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle-tink!" 
O  little  honey ! 

Can't  I  coax  you  out? 
Is  you  got  a  lover 

You  a-singin'  erbout? 

Brown  t'rush  singin'  whar  de  vines  run  'cross; 

"Tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle-tink  !" 
Wes'  win'  callin'  fer  de  HT  chile  dat  los' : 
"Tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle-tink  !" 
O  little  honey ! 

Can't  I  coax  you  out? 
Er  is  you  got  a  lover 

You  a-singin'  so  erbout? 


1 66 


SWEET,  MY  HONEY 

SWEET,  my  honey,  dry  yo'  eyes, 
When  de  rain  come  drappin'  fum  de  lonesome 

skies ; 

De  worl'  git  thirsty  fer  a  drap  er  dew, 
En  de  sun  gwine  kiss  it  ter  a  rose  fer  you ! 
Sweet,  my  honey, 
It'll  soon  be  sunny — 
Smile  en  dry  yo'  eyes ! 

Sweet,  my  honey,  dry  yo'  eyes, 

When  de  stars  done  drownded  in  de  rainy  skies ; 

De  sun  des  ridin'  in  a  bend  o'  blue, 

En  he'll  kiss  de  rain  draps  ter  a  rose  fer  you. 

Sweet,  my  honey, 

It'll  soon  be  sunny — 
Smile  en  dry  yo'  eyes  ! 


167 


A  SUMMER  SONG 

DE  river  crawl  erlong  so  slow — 
Wid  not  a  word  to  say, 
Look  lak  he  dunno  whar  ter  go 
En  sorter  los'  he  way. 

Hot  times  in  Georgia- 
Hot  times,  I  say ; 

Green  trees  whar  de  furrow  end — 
Chillun  cl'ar  de  way! 

De  co'n  blades  dusty  ez  kin  be 

En  want  de  rain  ter  come ; 
Dey  ax  de  wind  ter  lef  de  tree 

En  frolic  wid  'em  some. 

Hot  times  in  Georgia — 

Hot  times,  I  say  ; 
Shade  tree  at  de  furrow  end — 

Chillun  cl'ar  de  way! 
1 68 


A    SUMMER    SONG 

De  mockin'  bird  done  fol'  he  wing 

En  fly  fum  fiel'  en  plain; 
He  say:   "  Hit  des  too  hot  ter  sing; 

I  wish  dat  raincrow'd  rain!" 

Hot  times  in  Georgia — 

Hot  times,  I  say ; 
Shade  trees  at  de  furrow  end, 

Chillun  cl'ar  de  way! 


169 


THE  LOST  BIRDS 

DE  mockin'  bird  don  foP  his  wing 
En  hide  away  fum  fros' ; 
He  des  ain't  got  no  heart  ter  sing, 
Kase  all  he  chillun  los'. 

Los'  away 
En  gone  astray — 
En  so  he  mo'nful  night  en  day. 

He  buil'  a  straw  nes'  fur  away, 

In  blossoms  sof '  en  deep ; 
En  dar  he  tell  he  chillun  stay, 

En  sing  'em  all  ter  sleep. 

But  de  Win' — he  say: 
"Come,  fly  away!" 
En  so  he  miss  'em  night  en  day. 
170 


THE    LOST    BIRDS 


He  look  up  at  de  big  blue  sky 
What  change  fum  long  ergo, 

En  t'ink:   He  larn  'em  how  ter  fly, 
En  den — dey  lef '  him  so ! 

Los*  away 
En  gone  astray — 
Dat  why  he  mo'nful  night  en  day. 

En  so,  he  take  en  fol'  he  wing 

En  hide  away  fum  fros' ; 
He  des  ain't  got  no  heart  ter  sing, 

Wid  all  he  chillun  los'. 

Los'  away — 
Los' — los'  away! 
En  so,  he  mo'nful  night  en  day. 


171 


RABBIT  SONG 

OI  want  you,  Mr.  Rabbit,  ter  lem  me  pass — 
Rabbit  in  de  brier  patch, 
Rabbit  in  de  brier  patch  ; 
O  I  want  you,  Mr.  Rabbit,  ter  lem  me  pass, 
Fer  I  ain't  see  my  lover  sence  Sunday  las', 
En  I  gittin'  in  de  grass,  O  I  gittin'  in  de  grass — 
Lem  me  pass,  Mr.  Rabbit,  lem  me  pass! 

O  I  want  you,  Mr.  Rabbit,  ter  lem  me  pass — 

Rabbit  in  de  brier  patch, 

Rabbit  in  de  brier  patch ; 
O  I  want  you,  Mr.  Rabbit,  ter  lem  me  pass, 
Fer  de  sun  is  a  sinkin'  en  de  dark  comin'  fas', 
En  my  lover  lookin'  purty  in  de  biglookin'  glass — 
Lem  me  pass,  Mr.  Rabbit,  lem  me  pass! 


172 


M 


MISTER  BLIZZARD 

ISTER  BLIZZARD,  he  come  'long, 

Say :    "Dis  country  nice ! ' ' 
Shake  de  winder  wid  he  song — 
Hang  de  house  wid  ice  ! 

Oh,  believer, 

Walk  de  slippery  way ; 
De  winter  col' 
Freeze  up  yo'  soul, 

But  you'll  git  warm  some  day  I 

Mister  Blizzard  puff  en  blow — 

Shake  me  'twell  I  blue! 
Peepin' — creepin'  in  de  do'— 

"Br'er,  whar  is  you?'* 

Oh,  believer, 

Walk  de  slippery  way ; 
De  winter  col' 
Freeze  up  yo'  soul, 

But  you'll  git  warm  some  day! 
173 


MISTER    BLIZZARD 

Mister  Blizzard  sling  de  sleet — 

Snow  fall  in  de  night ; 
Des  so  'fraid  he'll  pinch  her  feet 

Ole  worP  tu'nin'  white  ! 

Oh,  believer, 

Walk  de  slippery  way ; 
De  winter  col' 
Freeze  up  yo'  soul, 

But  you'll  git  hot  some  day! 


174 


HIS  DREAM-MONEY 

DE  ol'  owl  holler,  en  de  ol'  owl  scream, 
En  I  wants   dat  money  what  I  see  in  my 
dream ; 

Oh,  my  honey! 
I  wants  dat  money — 
Dat  money  what  I  see  in  my  dream ! 

De  graveyard  rabbit  by  de  ol'  mill  stream, 

En  I  wants  dat  money  what  I  see  in  my  dream ; 

Bless  God,  honey  ! 

I  wants  dat  money — 
Dat  money  what  I  see  in  my  dream  ! 

Ol'  witch  ridin'  on  de  pale  moonbeam, 

En  I  wants  dat  money  what  I  see  in  my  dream ; 

Bless  God,  honey  ! 

I  wants  dat  money — 
Dat  money  what  I  see  in  my  dream ! 


'75 


A  PLANTATION  DITTY 

DE  gray  owl  sing  f um  de  chimbly  top : 
"Who— who— is— you-oo  ?" 
En  I  say:    "Good  Lawd,  hit's  des  po'  me, 
En  I  ain't  quite  ready  fer  de  Jasper  Sea ; 
I'm  po'  en  sinful,  en  you  'lowed  I'd  be ; 
Oh,  wait,  good  Lawd,  'twell  ter-morrer!" 

De  gray  owl  sing  f  um  de  cypress  tree : 

"Who — who — is — you-oo?" 
En  I  say:    "Good  Lawd,  ef  you  look  you'll  see 
Hit  ain't  nobody  but  des  po'  me, 
En  I'  like  ter  stay  'twell  my  time  is  free; 

Oh,  wait,  good  Lawd,  'twell  ter-morrer!" 


176 


A  DOUBTER  IN  THE  FOLD 

DE  'gator  eat  de  sturgeon, 
De  sturgeon  eat  de  perch  ; 
De  perch,  he  take  de  minnow  in : 
Now,  how  dat  go  in  church  ? 

De  heathen  say:      "I  hongry: 
Dey  lef  me  in  de  lurch." 

He  eat  de  missionary  up : 
Now,  how  dat  go  in  church  ? 

It's  trouble,  trouble,  trouble: 
You's  mixed  up  on  de  way; 

I  hopes  de  Lawd'll  specify 
Dese  t'ings  on  Jedgment  Day! 


12  177 


MISS  LUCY'S  WAY 

DE  Bee  hum  in  de  blossom  vine, 
De  Bird  break  out  in  song ; 
De  Sun,  he  say:      "I  'bleege  ter  shine," 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong. 

O  de  bird  break  out  in  song 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong, 

En  de  Red  Rose  say 

He'll  lean  her  way, 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong. 

De  River  stop  whar  her  footstep  pass, 

Do'  de  tide  run  fas'  en  strong, 
En  he  say:      "I'm  heah  fer  yo'  lookin'  glass, 

Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong. 


.78 


MISS    LUCY'S    WAY 

O  de  Bird  break  out  in  song 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong, 

En  de  River  say 

"Hit's  a  holiday," 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong. 

DeVi'letsay:     "I'm  kin  ter  you, 
En  you  musn't  treat  me  wrong;" 

En  de  green  trees — dey  bows  "Howdy  do!" 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong. 

O,  de  whole  wor'd  sing  a  song 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong, 

Hit  sing  en  sing 

Fer  de  weddin'  ring 
Wen  Miss  Lucy  pass  erlong. 


179 


MORNING  SONG 

ODE  Sun  rise  up  at  de  break  er  day, 
En  he  shine  twell  de  sky  tu'n  blue ; 
En  de  Sun  he  say: 
"Hit's  a  long,  long  way, 
En  I  got  no  time  fer  ter  stop  en  play!" 
En  he  shine  all  day,  he  shine  all  day, 
For  he  don't  sleep  late  lak'  you  ! 

O  de  Sun  he  rise  at  de  break  er  day, 
En  de  stars  say:  "Howdy  do  !" 

But  de  Sun  he  say: 

"You  must  cl'ar  de  way; 

Fer  I'm  on  my  road,  en  I  des  can't  stay ; 

My  task  is  took  fer  ter  shine  all  day, 
Fer  I  don't  sleep  late  lak'  you!" 


1 80 


YOUNG  MISS 

YOUNG  miss — she  gone  ter  meetin' 
A-lookin'  fit  ter  kill ; 
She  dress  up  so  she  make  a  show, 
She'll  ketch  dem  beaus — she  will! 

She  up  en  out  fo'  sun-up, 

En  cook,  en  sweep,  en  milk; 

She  stir  roun'  some,  en  dat  how  come 
Young  miss  she  dress  in  silk. 

Her  han'  des  soft  ez  peaches, 
Her  cheek  des  red  ez  rose ; 

En  dat  what  make  dem  brier  take 
En  ketch  on  ter  her  cloze. 

De  sunbeam  run  longside  er  her 

Des  lak  it  run  a  race, 
De  river  stop  its  quollin' 

En  try  ter  steal  her  face. 
181 


YOUNG    MISS 

De  rabbit  say:   "She  comin' !" 
En  hoP  his  years  up  high ; 

De  mockin'  bird,  he  hear  de  word 
En  sing  ez  she  go  by ! 

En  when  she  git  in  meetin' 

De  organ  start  ter  play ; 
De  preacher  look  en  shet  de  book 

En  dunno  what  ter  say ! 

En  yit,  she  rise  fo'  sun-up, 
En  cook,  en  sweep,  en  milk ; 

She  stir  roun'  some,  en  dat  how  come 
Young  miss  she  dress  in  silk! 


182 


MISS  LIZA 

r^  VER'WHAR  Miss  Liza  walk 
C      You'll  fin'  dem  vi'lets  blue  ; 
En  goodness  knows 
De  sweetes'  rose — 

Hit  go  long  dat  way,  too. 

Oh,  Miss  Liza! 

Sweet  ez  honeycomb, 
Dar's  always  some  one  at  de  gate: 

"Miss  Liza,  is  you  home?" 

Ever'  time  Miss  Liza  sing 

You  heahs  dem  mockin'  birds ; 

Dey  up  en  say : 

"Dat's  des  de  way!" 
En  try  ter  larn  de  words. 

Oh,  Miss  Liza! 

Sweet  ez  honeycomb, 
Dar's  always  some  one  at  de  gate 

"Miss  Liza,  is  you  home?" 


THE  CHILDREN 

DE  good  Lawd  en  de  Marster 
Dat  make  de  easy  yokes 
Doan  love  de  growed  up  sinners 
Lak  little  bits  er  folks. 

Dey  tell  him:    "Lawd,  de  chillun 
Des  lonesome  ez  kin  be!" 

En  den  His  arms  He  open, 

En  calls  'em:   "Come  ter  Me!" 

He  doan  ax  why  dey  mother 
Doan  rock  'em  all  ter  res' ; 

He  call  'em  ter  de  kingdom 
En  take  'em  to  His  bre's'. 

En  sence  dat  day  de  chillun — 
Bekaze  He  love  'em  so, 

Seem  des  so  close  to  heaven 
Dey  doan  have  fur  ter  go ! 
184 


THE    CHILDREN 

Dey  mighty  close  de  city 
Whar  sweet  de  music  rings ; 

Dey  see  de  lights  a-shinin' 
En  touch  de  angels'  wings. 

En  when  dey  tell  de  Marster 
Dey  lonesome  ez  kin  be, 

Still — still  His  arms  He  open 
En  call  'em:  ''Come  ter  Me!" 


'85 


AT  DEVIL'S  LAKE 

AT  Devil's  Lake  the  days  are  lone ; 
Night  has  no  star  to  call  her  own, 
And  winds  o'er  glooms  of  cypress  moan. 

For  there  they  led  Leweny 
With  the  ribald  shout  of  many; 
They  gathered  ghostly  round  him — 
They  scourged  him  and  they  bound  him, 
And  fathoms  deep  they  drowned  him 
In  the  Devil's  deadly  Lake! 

The  mists  are  crawling  o'er  the  pines, 
Where  never  moon  unclouded  shines ; 
Grim  ghosts  are  gliding  through  the  vines. 

For  there  they  led  Leweny, 
With  the  savage  shout  of  many. 
O  pale  the  moon  was  beaming ! 
At  his  wife's  side  he  lay  dreaming; 
But  he  saw  the  death-eyes  gleaming 
In  the  Devil's  deadly  Lake! 
1 86 


AT    DEVIL  S    LAKE 

Ye  startle  at  the  phantom  owl ; 

Ye  hear  the  wolves  for  hunger  howl ; 

But  shapes  more  dread  than  panthers'  prowl ! 

For  'twas  there  they  led  Leweny, 
With  the  brutal  cries  of  many ; 
From  weeping  wife  and  mother ; 
From  sister  and  from  brother, 
For  the  black  crime  of  another — 
To  the  Devil's  deadly  Lake! 

"Spare  ye,"  he  cried,  "the  rope,  the  knife! 
Let  justice  hold  and  judge  my  life ; 
Slay  not  my  children  and  my  wife!" 

But  there  they  slew  Leweny, 
With  the  hellish  hate  of  many; 
With  thongs  they  scourged  and  bound  him, 
And  fathoms  deep  they  drowned  him, 
And  the  grim  ghosts  wailed  around  him 
In  the  Devil's  lonely  Lake! 


A  SUMMER  LYRIC 

I'M  not  so  much  on  summer  when  the  lilies  wilt  away, 
And  the  rose  in  windless  gardens  is  a  pallid  ghost  of 

May; 
When  the  very  woods  are  breathless,  and  the  valley  and 

the  plain, 
As  they  glisten  seem  to  listen  for  the  falling  of  the  rain. 

And  over  twinkling  meadows 

Where  the  dusty  daisies  throng 
And  dream  of  dewy  shadows 

Comes  "the  weary  plowman's"  song: 

"Gee!   Haw,  thar!   Git  along!" 

I'm  not  so  much  on  summer,  though  the  rivers  as  they 
run 

With  winsome,  windy  ripples  seem  to  catch  and  cool  the 
sun; 

And  toss  their  shining  dewdrops  where  the  green  banks 
droop  and  dream, 

And  tempt  the  thirsting  thrushes  where  the  scarlet  ber 
ries  gleam. 

1 88 


A    SUMMER    LYRIC 

While  far  across  the  meadows 
Where  the  dusty  daisies  throng — 

Low-listening  for  the  shadows, 

Comes  that  "weary  plowman's"  song: 
"Gee!   Haw,  thar!   Git    along!" 

But  O  the  glad  September,  when  the  wind  is  in  the 

pines 
And  the  gusty  groves   are  sweetened   by  the  swaying 

muscadines ! 
Where  the  red  fox  leaves  his  cover,  and  the  winding  of 

the  horn, 
Like  a  love  song  to  a  lover,  makes  the  melody  of  morn ! 

Then,  o'er  the  ringing  meadows, 
Moves  the  merry,  cheery  throng, 

In  the  gray  of  chilly  shadows, 
And  we  never  miss  that  song — 
"Gee!  Haw,  thar!   Git  along!" 


189 


TIGER  LILIES 

TO  love  her  still  my  will  is — 
My  ruin  and  my  rest. 
(She  weareth  tiger  lilies — 
Tiger  lilies  on  her  breast.) 

She  deems  not  love  a  jewel, 
Nor  cares  if  love  be  blest ; 

The  infinitely  cruel! 

(Tiger  lilies  on  her  breast.) 

A  song  she  makes  of  sighing  . 

Ho!   lovers,  east  and  west, — 
She  smiles  where  Love  lies  dying. 

(Tiger  lilies  on  her  breast.) 


190 


MORNING  FIRES  FOR  MARY 

THIS  here  war's  a  cruel  sight — 
Turns  your  life  contrary ; 
(Think  I'll  stay  at  home  an'  light 
Mornin'  fires  fer  Mary ! ) 

Think  o'  march  in'  day  an'  night — 

Sick,  an'  sad,  an'  weary! 
(Think  I'll  stay  at  home  an'  light 

Mornin'  fires  fer  Mary ! ) 

'Course,  the  country's  cause  is  right, 

But — I'm  stationary! 
Ef  they  kilt  me,  who  would  light 

Mornin'  fires  fer  Mary? 

Three  cheers  fer  the  boys  that  fight ! 

War  is  too  contrary 
Fer  a  man  they  raised  ter  light 

Mornin'  fires  fer  Mary  ! 


191 


THE  VETERAN'S  DREAM 

SETTIN'  down  by  Kennesaw, 
Got  to  thinkin'  on  the  days 
Of  the  formin'  an'  the  stormin' 
Of  the  ranks  along  the  ways. 
June  sun  all  the  land  wuz  warmin', 
But  I  seen  the  war-fires  blaze ! 

Settin'  down  by  Kennesaw, 
Seen  the  boys  in  battle  fall ; 

Skies — they  thundered,  an'  I  wondered, 
Sence  they  had  no  clouds  at  all  ! 

In  some  sperrit  land  I'd  blundered, — 
Heard  the  ghostly  captains  call. 

Seen  the  boys  that  wore  the  gray 
Chargin'  on  the  ranks  of  blue ; 

Dashin' — clashin' — an'  the  flashin', 
Of  the  bright  swords,  drippin'  dew. 

Heard  the  cannon  balls  a-crashin' — 
Makin'  deadly  pathways  through. 
192 


THE  VETERAN'S  DREAM 

Then  the  scene  wuz  changed :   The  blue 
With  the  gray  stood — side  by  side ; 

An'  one  flag  come  into  view — 
(Thar  wuz  bullet  holes  to  hide, 

An'  a  missin'  star  or  two ; 

But — the  boys  marched  side  by  side!) 

Side  by  side,  they  marched  away 

At  a  sudden  bugle-call ; 
No  more  blue  an'  no  more  gray ! — 

Jest  one  flag  to  wave  for  all ! 
Marched  into  a  brighter  day, 

Answerin'  to  that  bugle-call! 

Which  wuz  right,  an*  which  wuz  wrong — 
Didn't  matter:   Ranks  looked  thin, 

But  they  marched — true  hearts  an'  strong- 
Other  fights  for  them  to  win  .     .     . 

I'd  been  dreamin'  purty  long, 
But — I'm  in  the  war  ag'in! 


193 


IN  THY  NEW  YEAR 

i 

T    ORD  God,  in  Thy  New  Year 
JL— /  Heed  Thou  our  song  and  prayer; 

Thy  world,  O  Lord,  is  sweet 
With  flowery  prints  of  feet 
Of  children,  who  for  rest 
Climb  to  the  mother's  breast. 
But  oft  the  mother  weeps 
Where  in  the  rose-strewn  deeps 
Love  with  the  children  sleeps. 

Spare  them  life's  little  while 
Ere  they  make  heaven  smile. 

ii 

Lord  God,  in  Thy  New  Year 
Heed  Thou  our  song  and  prayer: 

As  fledged  birds  leave  the  nest, 
So  from  the  mother's  breast 
Wander  the  children  sweet: — 
Sharp  thorns  are  at  their  feet, 
194 


IN    THY    NEW    YEAR 

Shed  from  life's  starless  skies 
Blindness  falls  on  their  eyes. 
Lead  them  through  darkest  night, 
Lord,  to  Thy  light — Thy  light! 
Shield  them  life's  little  while 
Ere  they  make  heaven  smile. 

in 

Lord  God,  in  Thy  New  Year 
Heed  Thou  our  song  and  prayer: 

Which  is  the  way  to  tread 
Heavenward  above  our  dead? 
Which  the  true  way  that  leads 
Starward  from  stormy  creeds  ? 
Lo !   we  are  wrapped  in    night ; 
Unbind  more  stars  of  light! 
Arch  in  Thy  heaven  again 
Rainbows  of  hope  to  men! 
Lead  us  through  darkest  night, 
Lord,  to  Thy  light— Thy  light! 
This  is  our  song  and  prayer, 
Lord,  in  Thine  own  New  Year 

'95 


WITH  APRIL  VIOLETS 


I   HAD  rather  bring  you  riches — the  gold  I  dream 
for  you : 

But — take  these  April  violets  I  reaped  in  fields  of  dew. 
I  weep  that  Fortune  flies  me :   for  winter  winds  blow 

cold — 

But  God  gave  some  the  violets,  and  God  gave  some  the 
gold. 


I  had  rather  bring  you  riches;    for  Life's  fair  table 

spread 
Is  mocked  when   Poverty   must  pray  over  a  crust  of 

bread ; 
When  the  sweetest  love  of  life  must  starve,  or  beggared 

palms  must  hold 
To  hearts  that  hate  the  violets  and  lock  from  Love  the 

gold. 

196 


WITH    APRIL    VIOLETS 

I  had  rather  bring  you  riches — to  lure  with  golden  art 
The  longing  from  Love's  eyes,  dear,  the  hunger  from 

Love's  heart; 
What  grace  that  for  the  breast  of  Love  Life's  violets  I 

twine  ? 
They  win  not  worldly  welcomes  like  raiment  silken-fine. 

And  you  should  be  a  queen,  and  I — thankful  to  see 
you  so. 

But  the  foci  is  in  the  palace,  and  Love's  own  unshel 
tered  go. 

Yet,  take  these  April  violets — all  that  my  life  can  hold — 

And  coin  them  with  thy  kisses,  dear,  to  treasuries  of 
gold! 


197 


HIS  "FAVOR" 

AIN'T  he  like  his  mammy? 
Favor  'bout  de  eyes: 
Calls  ter  mind  his  daddy, 
Settin'  up  so  wise! 

Favor  ever' body, 

Till  ain't  a  favor  lef  ; 
But  I  tell  you  who  he  favor  mos' : 

His  own,  sweet,  purty  se'f ! 

Cryin',  looks  like  grandpa — 
Wrinkles  make  him  kin ; 

But  tell  me  who  he  favor 

When  he  laughs  de  dimples  in! 

Done  favor  ever'body, 

Till  ain't  a  favor  lef  ; 
But  I  tell  you  who  he  favor  mos' : 

His  own,  sweet,  purty  se'f! 

198 


A  WINTER  NIGHT 

PILE  on  the  logs !   the  bright  flames  start 
And  up  the  roaring  chimney  race ; 
How  grateful  should  we  be,  sweetheart, 
For  just  this  little  fireplace ! 

I  said  to-day  that  I  was  poor, 

And  poor  in  some  things  I  may  be, 

But  there's  a  shelter — who  needs  more? 
And  your  bright  eyes  to  shine  for  me. 

Draw  near,  and  sum  our  blessings,  sweet; 

While  we  are  housed  and  clothed  and  fed 
The  bleak  winds  hound  from  street  to  street 

Souls  that  share  not  life's  daily  bread. 

While  we,  safe  harbored  from  the  storm, 
Have  all  our  happy  hearts  desire, 

There's  many  a  weak  and  wounded  form 
Bends  o'er  a  hearth  without  a  fire. 
199 


A    WINTER   NIGHT 

Thank  God  for  home !   and  if  a  knock 
Sounds  at  the  door  this  icy  night, 

Oh,  let  us  hasten  to  unlock 

And  bring  a  brother  to  the  light ! 

It  was  for  this  God's  gifts  were  lent — 
To  light  the  way  for  those  that  roam ; 

It  was  for  this  that  Christ  was  sent — 
To  shelter  those  that  had  no  home ! 


THE  END 


200 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


